


In Darkness, Brought to Light

by spirantization



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Background Case, Case Fic, Developing Relationship, Domestic Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fortune Telling, Phone Sex, Puberty, Tarot, Wings, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29084454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirantization/pseuds/spirantization
Summary: Chloe and Lucifer navigate their partnership, relationship, and lives together while Trixie finds herself adjusting to changes of her own.A new case creates more questions than answers, even as a new world of possibility open up before them.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Trixie Espinoza, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 108
Kudos: 205





	1. No Praise Chanted, No Incense Burned

**Author's Note:**

> This is roughly 50k of self-indulgence. I hope some of you find this to be palatable to your own brand of self-indulgence, too.
> 
> This story takes place after 5A, and references a few events from that season, but makes no attempt to continue or solve that story or plotlines. God whomst?
> 
> The title, and chapter titles, are adapted from Charles Baudelaire’s poem Les Litanies de Satan (The Litanies of Satan), and the English translation by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
> 
> _Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses  
>  Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres précieuses_
> 
> _Thou that hast seen in darkness and canst bring to light_  
>  The gems a jealous God has hidden from our sight

Chloe was roused from sleep by the chiming of her alarm. She inhaled, breathing in deeply, before she flipped over and clawed at her phone. It fell from the bedside table and dangled over the edge by its cord until she managed to retrieve and silence it. 

She flopped back onto her pillows and sighed. She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes catching as they always did on the messy trim work above the closet, and braced for what the day would bring. 

Her phone dinged with an incoming text. She lifted it up and smiled at Lucifer’s message, warmth unfurling pleasantly within her chest. _Good morning, Detective!_ It read. She sent him a selfie of her ridiculous bed head and her own good morning message, then pulled herself out of bed and into the bathroom. 

Lucifer’s response — a much more explicit photo than hers had been — came through as she was brushing her teeth. She snorted and spat out her mouthful of toothpaste. 

_I can give you a hand with that later ;)_ , she typed, and immediately locked her phone. It was not a good idea these days for it to fall into any wandering hands. She pulled on her clothes for the day and went down to make breakfast. 

Trixie emerged from her room as Chloe was cracking eggs into the pan. “Morning, Trixie babe,” she called.

Trixie made a grunt-like noise, dropping into her chair. 

“Scrambled or sunny-side up?” she asked, ignoring the non-verbal response. It wasn’t a crime to be grumpy in the morning, after all. There were some days she would like nothing more than to grunt at people who asked her questions.

She got a shrug in response. “Doesn’t matter.”

Chloe made a face as the yolk broke coming out of the shell, dashing her default sunny-side up plans. “Let’s have scrambled,” she decided, sticking a spatula into the pan to mix everything together. After a few short minutes, she scraped the finished eggs into a plate, popped two slices of toast in beside them, and set it down on the kitchen island in front of Trixie. 

“Thanks,” Trixie murmured, pulling the jar of almond butter towards her and unscrewing the lid. Chloe turned back to the pan, added another knob of butter, and started cracking her own eggs in.

She finished in plenty of time to join her daughter at the island. Trixie drooped over her eggs, distractedly pushing them around her plate. Chloe dropped a kiss on the top of her head as she walked by. “You feeling okay, monkey?”

Trixie screwed up her face against the injustice of receiving a kiss from her mother. “Mom,” she whined.

“I know, I know.” Her baby girl was growing up — it wasn’t so easy to give her kisses or call her cute nicknames anymore. It was a hard thing to resist.

Trixie sighed, unscrunching herself from her position at the counter. “Just not very hungry. I didn’t sleep well last night.” She pushed her eggs around some more.

That was unusual. Trixie was a good sleeper, and always had been. Chloe had been the envy of fellow mothers at toddler play groups she’d gone to when Trixie was young. “Did you have a headache? Too hot?”

Trixie shrugged but didn’t make eye contact. “Weird dreams.” She took a small bite of her massacred eggs. “I was in an old house. You were there but I couldn’t find you. And there was a man with a big knife.”

“That sounds scary.” Chloe opened her arms in invitation, well aware she might be turned down. “Hug?” she offered.

Trixie nodded and slid off the stool and into her arms. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a great surprise to hear that Trixie was having bad dreams; she had gone through enough bad already in her life that would give anyone nightmares. Men with weapons had featured in her dreams before, and it broke Chloe’s heart each time to know that her young child had had first-hand experience with them.

Chloe gave her a good squeeze and chanced a small kiss on the top of her head. Trixie voiced no complaint about it, just staying in the clinging hold. “Good thing it was just a dream. No big old houses or scary men with knives here. It wasn’t real.” She felt Trixie sniff against her chest, and then they pulled apart.

“Do you think you can finish your breakfast?” Trixie nodded and moved back to her plate. “Good. Don’t be too long, alright? It’s just about time for school. Are you all set to go to your Dad’s this weekend?”

“Yeah,” came the answer through a mouth full of eggs. “I have my science project with me.”

“He’ll be the one to pick you up from school.”

“Mom, I _know_.” Trixie made a face and rolled her eyes. “We’ve done this, like, a _thousand_ times before.”

“Well, I guess this will be a thousand and one then, won’t it?”

Trixie made a vague grumbling sound, but worked on finishing her breakfast without further commentary. Chloe shovelled her pile of eggs onto her toast in order to finish as quickly as possible, and jammed as much into her mouth at a time as she could manage. She cleared her plate while Trixie was working on her last few bites, and stood up to the scrub the pan and fill the dishwasher.

Trixie took a dainty sip of her juice. “Are you going to spend the weekend with Lucifer?” she asked, an air of utter nonchalance about her. Her grumpiness had clearly dissipated after eating some food.

Chloe forced herself to be casual and not react to the ribbing. “We’ll be working all weekend, so yes, we’ll be spending it together.” She cleared her throat and adjusted her blazer.

“Lucifer was _very_ interested to hear that I was with Dad this weekend,” Trixie said, setting her glass down with the utmost care. “That’s all I’m saying.” Invigorated by her mischief, she shovelled the remainder of her breakfast into her mouth and made a beeline for the bathroom. “Don’t forget to pack your toothbrush!”

“Plate in the dishwasher, please!” Chloe called after her.

The nerve. Honestly.

She wouldn’t forget to pack her toothbrush. She didn’t need to.

She had one of her own already there.

* * *

“Good morning, Detective!” A coffee cup was set down before her with a flourish.

She blinked up at Lucifer’s blinding smile and found an answering one creeping across her own face. “Good morning, Lucifer. I missed you last night.”

“ _Did_ you?” He leaned in closer, sitting down on the edge of her desk. “I’m sorry to have missed that.”

“I had some memories to keep me company.” She fiddled with a pen in the cup and brought the end to her mouth. Lucifer’s eyes tracked the movement with a gleam of hunger.

The thing she had with Lucifer was — new. Not fragile — she liked to think that they’d been through enough to get where they were that their relationship would not shatter so easily. With everything Michael had brought down on them, not to mention everything that had happened over the past few years, it was enough to put the very best of relationships to the test. They were still standing. Their relationship wasn’t broken.

She had concerns about how they would function as work partners and life partners — more specifically, how to keep the two of them separate — but apparently Lucifer was capable of more discernment than she gave him credit for. There was no office PDA, no gossip or bragging about their sex life to the other officers, and no clandestine meetings in the evidence room.

Not that she would be opposed to all of those things, however.

She leaned forward. “Maybe we could discuss our case — somewhere private, of course. And I did offer to give you a hand this morning with your little problem.”

Of the two of them, she was beginning to suspect that _she_ was the bad influence.

“Not so little,” he said, affronted. 

“Oh, you’re right,” she said. “It is a rather big problem.”

“Perhaps —”

Lucifer was cut off by a folder slapping onto the desk between them. Dan stood beside them. “A body dropped,” he said. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?” His eyes flicked between the two of them. “Or you want to get us all dragged into another workplace sexual harassment seminar.”

Chloe could feel a flush creeping up her cheeks. She most certainly did not want that, and she especially did not want Lucifer to have to attend another one; the first time had been enough of a disaster, and they hadn’t even been dating at that point. Getting called out on her lack of professionalism in the workplace by her ex-husband was punishment enough. She snatched the folder off the desk as Lucifer hopped down, looking entirely unabashed and turning on Dan like a hunter on the prowl.

“Daniel,” he greeted in a dangerously smooth silky tone.

She resisted the urge to groan. Things between Lucifer and Dan has settled somewhat. Lucifer, for his part, appeared to have forgotten his plot for revenge over Dan shooting him. Apparently he didn’t take assassinations attempts all that personally. He had turned his attention instead to needling Dan about the supernatural and celestial every chance he got, and had considerable talent in manufacturing chances if none of them arose on their own.

His glee in informing Dan that he had slept with the Goddess of All Creation had almost outweighed his disgust that the Goddess in question was his mother.

 _Almost_.

Chloe mostly left him to it. Dan had shot Lucifer, after all. A little ribbing was well-deserved, in her opinion.

“You were married to the Detective for a short period of time,” Lucifer continued. “Perhaps you can provide some insight. In your obviously limited experience —”

“Okay!” Chloe interjected, standing up and away from the desk. “I don’t think that anyone needs to hear the end of that sentence. Lucifer, we have a body to go investigate. So let’s go do that, and Dan, we’ll see you later. You’re picking up Trixie from school, yes?”

“Yeah, yes, I’ve got the weekend with her,” Dan said, rolling his eyes and placing his hands on his hips. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Just checking,” Chloe said, throwing up her hands defensively. Clearly Trixie got the attitude from her father. “Let’s go, Lucifer.”

* * *

Forensics was already on site when they arrived at the scene. As they approached the yellow tape, Lucifer stepped in front to lift it out of her way. She ducked slightly underneath with a smile in thanks. He followed her in, the phantom touch of his hand hovering at the small of her back. The heat of his hand crept in and flared pleasantly along her back.

They entered through the house, passing by uniformed officers and forensic techs who were combing the scene. They found Ella next to the body, carefully stepping around a large pool of blood that spread out beneath him on the floor, her camera in hand. She raised it up to her eye, and took a shot. She pulled back and appeared to thumb through the photos on the screen.

“Hi Ella,” Chloe said, halting just inside the door and clasping her hands together in front of her body. “What do you have for us?”

“Welcome,” Ella began, raising her arms dramatically like a magician about to put on a show, her camera swaying gently in front of her chest. “To our locked-door mystery.”

“Ohh,” said Lucifer with approval. He nudged at Chloe’s side as if this was an exciting treat for them. “Intriguing.”

“Meet Owen Williamson,” Ella said, gesturing to the body. “His gardener came by this morning to tend to the plants, and saw his body through the window. He called the police, and when they got here, they had to break down the door, because —” she moved to show them the splintered door with an attached deadbolt. “The front door was locked with a chain that could only be fastened from the inside. _This_ room was deadbolted shut, and the window only opens from the inside. Locked. Door. Mystery.”

“Are we sure the killer isn’t just hiding in the room somewhere?” Lucifer asked, peering under the desk as if he might find a person tucked underneath.

“Police and forensics have been sweeping the house for hours,” Ella told them. “Nobody’s here.”

“Maybe there’s a secret room,” he tried. “Or a dumbwaiter that’s been wallpapered over that the killer is hiding in right now. I saw that in a movie once.”

“Dude, this house was built like ten years ago,” Ella said. “I doubt there’s a dumbwaiter.”

“This isn’t a movie,” Chloe reminded him firmly. “And this room doesn’t even have wallpaper. If the house is really empty, then there has to be a reasonable explanation for what took place here.”

“Or it’s the vents,” Lucifer said, ducking down and examining a grate on the floor. “That’s always a classic, isn’t it.”

“A person can’t fit inside the vents,” Ella said glumly. “We already checked.”

Lucifer was undeterred. “Maybe the killer hid in the closet,” he said, opening up the closet door and looking around the inside. “And disguised himself, or herself, as a police officer, and blended in with the others when they arrived.”

The enthusiasm was charming, in its own way, if beginning to get exhausting. Trust Lucifer to hyper-focus on this aspect of the case and ignore all of the legitimate police work that still could be done. Murders were rarely as impossible as they sometimes first appeared; there would be a later break in the case that solved the initial abnormalities, or the killer would be able to offer some addition insight. She cleared her throat.

“Right now Lucifer and I can focus on who killed Mr. Williamson and why,” Chloe said. “And later we can find out the how.” She caught his eye and widened her own slightly, a silent message to pull himself together and join her in reality.

He caught on. “Of course, you’re right, Detective,” Lucifer said, standing up straight. “First we have to catch our killer. Then we can find out how this was accomplished. Priorities.” He nodded at her.

“What’s the cause of death?” Chloe asked, squinting down at the body. That was a substantial amount of blood.

“Most likely getting stabbed seven times with a kitchen knife,” Ella said, making a repeated stabbing motion with her fist. “One of those big ones, you know, for cutting meat.”

Chloe made a few gestures mimicking a knife, about ten inches long and two or three inches thick. “That long? That thick? One of those?”

“I thought you didn’t like discussing my assets in public,” Lucifer murmured in her ear. She smacked him lightly in the side. He withdrew, chuckling softly. His next question was addressed to Ella. “What do we know about the poor chap, anyway?”

“Seems to have been some kind of stock trader and investor,” said Ella. “Self-employed.”

“But clearly doing well for himself,” he remarked, looking around the room. “This house isn’t too shabby, is it?” It certainly wasn’t; there were large, open rooms, hardwood flooring, and modern furniture. “He appears to avoided most of the trappings of the nouveau riche, at least.”

“Money can be a powerful motivator for murder,” Chloe mused. “You said the gardener found the body?”

“Yes,” said Ella, gesturing with her camera. “I think the unis still have him outside.”

Owen Williamson’s gardener, José Torres, stood outside with a pair of uniformed officers. He held his hat in his hands, which he kept wringing as though trying to squeeze every drop of moisture out of it.

“Mr. Torres?” Chloe said, stepping closer. “My name is Detective Chloe Decker, and this is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Upon hearing Lucifer’s name, José crossed himself and muttered a prayer. Lucifer scowled.

“His English is not very good,” said one of the officers. “We’re waiting on a translator.”

“No need,” said Chloe. “My partner speaks Spanish.”

Lucifer straightened proudly, his irritation at José’s behaviour vanishing, and repeated her question. José nodded, relaxing his grip slightly on his hat, and answered in rapid-fire Spanish. Chloe could understand some of it — her Spanish skills were nothing to crow about, but they existed — but she waited for Lucifer to translate fully.

“He says he was one to find the body,” Lucifer said. “He comes by three times a week to look after Mr. Williamson’s garden. He saw the body as he was passing by the window and called 911. He didn’t realize Mr. Williamson was dead and thought he might have had a heart attack or some other accident.”

“What time did you find the body?”

Lucifer listened for a moment to the answer before nodding and giving his translation. “He comes at seven o’clock each time. Mr. Williamson is an early riser and doesn’t mind.”

“Did you see anyone else in the house?” Chloe asked, scribbling in her notepad. “Or anyone leaving it?”

José shook his head and answered.

“He says no,” said Lucifer. “He didn’t see anyone else, and Mr. Williamson lives alone. He tried to open the window to get to the body, but it wouldn’t open. Then he went to the front door and the back door, but they were both locked.”

“Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt Mr. Williamson?” she asked. José shook his head once more.

“No. Mr. Williamson was kind, paid him very well and on time. He doesn't know who would want to hurt him.”

José grasped her hand and held it between his.

Lucifer continued reluctantly. “He says that he will pray to God you will catch his killer swiftly.”

“I will do everything in my power to bring his murderer to justice,” she told José. He clasped her hand more firmly, nodded, and let her go.

The officers and José moved off. Chloe tapped her pen against her notepad.

“What now?” Lucifer asked. “Personally, I don’t like the look of this José fellow. His story was far too clean.”

She gestured at the garden. “We have no reason to suspect him. He was the one to call this in.” She glanced at him through her bangs. “What would be your next step?”

“Arrest the gardener, obviously,” he replied.

“You’re just saying that because he didn’t like your name.”

“I’m saying it because he’s probably guilty. For crimes against landscaping, at the very least.”

She shook her head. “I know you caught a serial killer almost all by yourself. You are capable of doing great detective work. Don’t play dumb.”

“That’s different. I was properly motivated.”

She said nothing, fixing him with a look. She could wait him out. He was impatient, and she had nowhere else to be today. He sighed, grumbled, and adjusted his sleeves.

“Miss Lopez said Mr. Williamson was an investor and trader, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Perhaps there were issues with an investment gone wrong. We’ll have to look into his financial history and see what we can make of it. If he didn’t pay, or was demanding a repayment, it may point to a murderer.” He sniffed. “The things humans will do for money.”

“See?” she grinned at him. “You don’t need me. I could take the weekend off and let you handle this.”

“Absolutely not,” he informed her, puffing up indignantly. “If I’m forced to wade through mind-numbingly boring financial records, then I demand your participation.”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” she told him. He huffed and smoothed down his suit. “I’m not going anywhere. Partner.”

His smile was radiant in response.

* * *

Owen Williamson’s brother, David, shook as he picked up his mug. He put it down without drinking anything, the mug clattering loudly against the ceramic coaster.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand over his eyes. “I’ve just been a wreck. Owen is — was — my older brother. I can’t believe —” he broke off, shaking his head.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Chloe said. “My partner and I are dedicated to finding out who did this.”

“And how,” added Lucifer. She shot him a look, while he pretended to look innocent.

“When was the last time you saw Owen?”

David drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “Um. I saw him a few nights ago. Sunday. We always try to get together once a week, or every other week if we’re busy. We went out for Chinese food.”

“Was he acting unusual?” Lucifer asked, leaning forward. “Was he afraid? Did he think anyone was out to get him?”

“No — nothing,” David said. “He was acting totally normal.”

“Do you have any idea of who may have wanted to hurt your brother?” Chloe asked.

David blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he said. He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Um. He had business partners, I guess. He invested in a few local businesses. I never heard about any problems with them, but maybe one of them had issues with him.”

“We’ll look into it,” Chloe assured him. “Mr. Williamson, I have to ask. Where were you last night between seven and eight in the evening?”

He sniffed. “I was at my friend’s house. They host a — kind of book club thing on Thursday nights.”

“If you could provide their contact information, that would be very helpful,” Chloe said. “As well as anyone else who was there who would be able to vouch for you.”

“Y-yeah, I can do that.”

She pulled out her card and passed it over to him. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else, please let me know.”

* * *

The start of an investigation was always intriguing; all the avenues of possibility were open, and what remained was for the pieces to come together and interlock the way they were meant to.

There were so many pieces to fit together. There was the forensics of the scene, spearheaded by Ella and her team; there were witness statements, which might lend insight into what had happened; and the clues that lead them deeper into the investigation. Every case was different, with its own unique combination of clues and factors.

Chloe never found herself bored with her work. Part of it were tedious, to be sure: paperwork, delays, and various hoops to jump through did not make up the most enjoyable aspects of her job. But still, never two work days were the same, and every case was a mystery to unravel and opportunity to carry out justice.

However, it appeared that some mysteries did not want to be unravelled.

“So what you’re saying is,” Chloe said. looking at the bagged evidence laid out on Ella’s table in her lab. “That there are basically no leads.”

“There’s no such thing as no leads when it comes to forensic evidence,” Ella said, jumping up and gesturing around the table. “Okay, look. There are no fingerprints on the murder weapon except for those of the victim’s.”

“So you’re saying this is a suicide?” said Lucifer, holding up the bagged evidence between two fingers. “That’s a bit overkill.”

“No,” Ella said. She snatched the bag out of his grasp and put it back down on the table. “If there are no prints, it means it’s likely that whoever killed Owen Williamson wore gloves. If the blade had been wiped, we wouldn’t have found any prints on it at all. See? A lack of evidence can bring out new leads.”

“So our killer had a plan.”

“What kind of knife is it?” Chloe asked, squinting at the bag. All she could make out was a thick black handle that looked the roughly the same as any other knife she’d ever owned.

“This?” Ella said, picking up the evidence bag and holding it up for inspection. “Just a common household knife. We found it put back into the knife block. Not even cleaned off.”

“A weapon of convenience usually points to a crime of passion,” Chloe pointed out. “But for the murderer to be wearing gloves means that there was some amount of pre-meditation. And returning the knife back to where it was supposed to be is…strange. But we still have no physical evidence tying anyone else to the scene.”

“That’s what makes this so interesting!” Ella said.

“Do you have any other leads for us?” Chloe asked, rubbing her temple. There was interest in the unusual, and then there was Ella’s obsession with it.

“Well, we’re sweeping the rest of the house to see if there’s anything we missed, but so far, nope, nada. I hope you guys can find some leads elsewhere, because forensics has a whole lot of nothing for you at the moment.”

“Weren’t you just saying that could be a good thing?” Lucifer said.

Ella shrugged. “You guys could be looking for a pro. This wasn’t your run of the mill crime of passion, I’ll tell you that much. The evidence just isn’t there for it.”

Chloe sighed. Lucifer leaned in. “The dead chap’s brother seemed to believe that his business dealings were the reason for his demise. Could be less expensive to hire a hit than to pay back a loan.”

“Really?”

Lucifer tilted his head. “Depends on the size of the loan.”

“We have a list of Owen Williamson’s business investments,” Chloe said. “Time to start digging and see what we can turn up.”

* * *

“Owen?” the man said incredulously. “Owen was murdered?”

“It appears so,” said Lucifer. He looked around, nodding his approval. “This is a nice little setup you have here.”

Chloe could agree with him on that. The restaurant was upscale Japanese cuisine right at the heart of Beverly Hills. Everything about it was beautiful and opulent; exquisite murals adorned the walls, tables were separated by delicately painted dividers, and the tables held red lacquerware dishes.

She focused her attention on the owner and chef in front of her. “Mr. Takashi Matsumoto, is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Takashi said.

“Is there anywhere we can speak in private?” Chloe asked. “We may not want to have this discussion in the middle of your restaurant.”

He blinked out of his stunned silence. “Yes, of course,” he said, ushering them out of the dining room and into an office beside the bathrooms. It was small and cramped, piled high with print outs and envelopes. A desk with a computer sat to one side; Takashi sunk into the office chair, and waved them into the two chairs that were placed in front of his desk.

“Mr. Matsumoto,” Chloe began. “We understand that Mr. Williamson was your business partner.”

“Yes, Owen was the one who made this whole thing possible.” He gestured to the restaurant outside of the office door. “Without him, I wouldn’t have had the funds to get this place started. God. What a nightmare. How did he die?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge details of an ongoing investigation,” she told him.

He nodded absentmindedly. “Of course. Of course. What a shock. How can I help you, Detectives?”

“What I’d really like is for you to tell me,” Lucifer said, shifting forward in his chair. He caught Takashi’s eyes, who stared at him, enthralled. “What is it you desire?”

Takashi’s pupil’s dilated. “I —”

“Yes?” Lucifer prompted.

“I want to prove myself,” Takashi said. “Prove I have the talent to be successful all on my own.” He blinked and shook his head, pulling himself away from Lucifer’s compulsion. “This business is everything to me. I’ve worked very hard to make it a reality. Owen helped me with that.”

“Did you ever have any issues or disagreements with Mr. Williamson about how the business should be run?” Chloe asked. “Anything that may have gotten a little heated, say?”

“No way,” Takashi said, shaking his head. “We were both happy with the agreement. I was making regular payments plus interest.”

“You weren’t miffed at having to repay your loan so soon after opening, were you?” Lucifer prompted.

Takashi shrugged. “That’s business,” he said. “Why would I be upset? This place is doing great. One year in, and we’re consistently busy every night. We’re getting great reviews. We’re on track to pay everything back with no delays. And Owen loved this place. He came in all the time for the okonomiyaki.”

“Oh, okonomiyaki,” Lucifer said. “Detective, we should come here one evening. Have you had it? You’ll love it.”

Chloe’s knowledge of Japanese food started and stopped at sushi, which she — despite having lived in California her entire life — had never really liked. But the idea of having a night out with Lucifer, the two of them having a meal together at a nice restaurant, splitting a bottle of wine and a fancy dessert, was more than appetizing.

She cleared her throat to tamp down on her thoughts and adjusted her grip on her pen. They were working. Fantasizing could come later.

“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Mr. Williamson?” she asked. “Another person who might have had financial dealings with him, or any personal connections he might have had?”

“I’m really sorry,” Takashi told them, shaking his head. “I don’t know about anyone else he partnered with. I know he had a brother — met him a few times when they came in together — but that’s about it.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts last night between seven and eight?” she asked.

“Here,” he replied simply. “That’s prime dinner rush on a Thursday night. I was slammed in the kitchen at that time.”

“We’ll follow up, just to be sure,” she said. “But I think that’s everything for today.” She pulled out her card and held it out to him. “If you think of anything at all, please let me know.”

He took it with two hands and held it in front of him. “I will. I hope you’re successful in finding out who did this.”

“Oh, she’ll track them down,” Lucifer said. “She’s the best in the business. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me if you make your own mochi?”

“We’ve got a fresh batch in the back,” Takashi said. “I’d be happy to pack you up a few if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely —”

“That won’t be necessary —”

Chloe cleared her throat. “Thank you for all your help,” she told him. “We won’t take up any more of your time.” She turned away and tugged at Lucifer’s jacket to bring him along.

“I’ll call for a reservation another time,” Lucifer said in a lowered tone. She tugged on his jacket again, and he followed her out of the restaurant. “Gentle,” he scolded, examining his suit for potential wrinkles as they walked back to her car. “You’ll stretch the fabric.” He crowded in behind her as she grabbed the handle to open the car door. “Of course, if you’d like to wreck my clothes, I’m sure we can find a fitting arena for that.”

She pushed him away, snorting, and climbed into the car. Grinning, he followed suit.

* * *

It was only much later, staring over the steering wheel at the endless Los Angeles traffic, that the day began to catch up with her. She heaved out a breath.

“What is it?” Lucifer asked, gazing at her steadily from the passenger seat. “That’s a beleaguered sigh if I ever heard one.”

“It’s never a promising sign to begin a new case with so many dead ends,” she told him.

They’d followed up with a few more of Owen Williamson’s investments to no avail. Lucifer had been suspicious of the fry truck owner, but the man had no discernible motive for murdering the man who gave him his startup fund, and an alibi for the time of the murder as well. The art gallery owner had similarly been baffled as to why anyone would murder Owen, and had pulled up footage of his own security tapes to detail his alibi.

No one could offer any insight on the case. No one was coming up as a plausible suspect.

It was possible she was a bit precious about her track record, especially with Lucifer on the case — they had a _very_ high solve rate, after all — but it was frustrating not to be able to find out who did it. To bring closure to the family. To give poor David Williamson some peace of mind.

There was still time. It was early in the case yet, and it wasn’t as if murders routinely got solved in a single day. However, it would be nice to have _something_ as a jumping off point the following day rather than continuing the same slog from the day before.

She made a face as a zippy little sports car — likely a man’s midlife crisis purchase — swerved in front of her and into the far lane. She honked at him.

“Oh, you are grumpy,” he marvelled, looking bizarrely proud of her. “Unless there’s something else on your mind?”

The invitation to vent was there, and she considered turning it down. But they were partners, after all, in more ways than one. Partners could lean on each other. How many times had she offered to listen to him if he needed to share? It should go both ways, each one in turn both the listener and the one who got to vent. She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel.

“It’s the circle of grumpiness, I suppose,” she said. “Trixie was grumpy with me this morning. I don’t remember exactly — I touched her hair, or kissed her head, and she reacted like I was some huge embarrassment.” At Lucifer’s blank expression, she waved it off self-consciously. Mundane parenting woes were far outside his wheelhouse. “Forget it. It’s not a big deal.”

He reached across the centre console and touched one of his hands to hers, an approximation of holding her hand. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I confess I don’t have much in the way of experience in parental matters or any advice to offer. But I can see that this… interaction has upset you.”

Sometimes it caught her by surprise, the way her daughter was growing up before her eyes. It seemed like just yesterday she was a newborn baby, and a rambunctious young girl who played with dolls. It was even more recently that she could hug and kiss her daughter without her squirming away.

“Just part of growing up, I guess,” she said. “I remember a time when I was absolutely mortified by every word that came out of my mother’s mouth. I suppose it was bound to happen to me, too.”

“You’re still mortified by every word that comes out of your mother’s mouth,” he remarked. She opened her mouth to deny it and found she couldn’t quite squeak out of that one without catching herself in a lie.

Her phone rang from the car’s speakers, an unknown number flashing across the display. She pressed the button to accept the call. “Detective Decker.”

“Detective Decker? This is Takashi Matsumoto. We spoke this morning.” Lucifer leaned forward in interest.

“Of course, Mr. Matsumoto. How can I help you?”

The connection crackled slightly. “After you left, I looked through some photos I had of Owen on my phone. I have a photo from the last time he was at the restaurant, and he brought someone. I’ve never met him before but when I came out to say hello they were having a very intense discussion. Sounded like a pretty nasty disagreement. It’s probably nothing, but I thought I would let you know.”

“Did you get a name for this person?” Chloe asked.

“Owen introduced him as his ‘colleague’, and that was it. I think the only thing he said was ‘nice to meet you’.”

“Can you send the photo to my email? It’s on my card.”

“Of course.” There were some indistinct sounds of a phone keyboard tapping, and a small ding from her own phone to indicate a new email had arrived. She passed the phone to Lucifer, who dutifully opened it up and propped the phone against the dash so she would be able to see.

“We’ve got it,” she told Takashi. She glanced at the picture and then turned her eyes back to the road. “The man on the right? Skinny, white, brown hair?”

“That’s him,” Takashi confirmed.

“We’ll look into it,” she said. “Thank you for passing it along. Maybe his brother or one of his other associates will be able to give us a positive ID.”

“I hope it helps,” Takashi said, although he sounded dubious. “I know it’s not a lot.”

“I appreciate it,” she assured him. “Really. Feel free to call any time.”

They ended the call. Lucifer frowned at the photo. “He doesn’t look like much of a murderer,” he declared. “Barely looks strong enough to pick up a knife, let alone stab someone with one. Still, those are the ones you’ve got to watch out for.”

“Well, I for one am glad to have something, even if it is a photo of an unidentified man who may have argued with our victim shortly before his death. It’s better than nothing. It’s something to look into, at least.”

“Here we are, literally foraging for crumbs.” He frowned at the turn she made. “Hang on, you’re going the wrong way. You missed your exit.”

She gripped the steering wheel. “Well, I could go there,” she said. “I just thought, what with Trixie being at Dan’s this weekend, we could take advantage of the time and I could stay with you.”

His frown melted away to reveal a blinding grin. “Well,” he said, eyeing her with extreme satisfaction. “I must say that this weekend’s prospects have improved remarkably. There I was, prepared to resign myself to an evening of complete drabness, but I will have the pleasure of your exquisite company instead.”

She very much doubted that Lucifer had ever had a boring evening in his life. Even if she wasn’t there, he still had an entire club to entertain him.

She scoffed. “Don’t get too excited about an evening without drabness just yet,” she threatened. “I did bring the case files.”

“Of course you did.”

She pulled into Lux’s underground park and backed the car into one of the guest spots. She turned off the engine and turned to him. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “I may be convinced to put away the files a bit earlier than normal.”

“A challenge!” Lucifer’s grin dialled up in intensity. “This I like. How ever can I convince you to abandon your detective duties for the evening?”

“Oh,” she said, leaning in. His eyes flickered down to her lips and back up. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

Chloe’s cellphone rang and buzzed from inside her pocket. She jumped and pulled back slightly, pulling it out to see who was calling.

“Infernal device,” Lucifer muttered.

She ignored him. Trixie’s name and picture — an older one of the two of them cheesing for the camera in front of the Griffith Observatory — flashed across the screen. “It’s Trixie,” she told him. “I have to take this.” She swiped along the screen to accept the call and brought it to her ear. “Hi monkey. Having a good time at your dad’s?”

“Mom?” At the tone of her daughter’s voice, Chloe’s spine straightened and her mind zeroed in completely. That was not the sound of a happy Trixie. She sniffled on the other end of the line. “Can you come get me?”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Chloe scrabbled for her seat belt. “Is your dad there?”

Trixie sniffed again. “I don’t feel well. I want to come home with you.” Her voice was thick, as if she’d been crying. “Please come get me.”

“Does your dad know you’re not feeling well?” Chloe frowned in thought. It wasn’t like Trixie to want to bail on her weekends with Dan. The two of them always looked forward to their time together. And even if she got sick while she was over there — which had happened a time or two before — it wasn’t as if Dan weren’t wholly capable of looking after her.

“I just want to come home,” Trixie repeated.

“What happened?” she asked. “You were looking forward to it this morning. Your dad was going to help you with your science project.”

“ _Mom_ ,” was the reply, along with a fresh sob.

“I’m on my way, baby, okay?” she said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up the phone, her frown deepening.

“What’s all that about?” Lucifer asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I have no idea.” She pulled up Dan’s number and dialled him, shifting in her seat.

Dan answered on the third ring. “Hey Chloe, what’s up?” He sounded cheerful enough, a stark contrast to the tear-choked voice that had called her moments before. “Everything going well with the case?”

“Hi Dan,” she answered, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Is everything alright with Trixie?”

“Everything’s fine,” came the reply. “I picked her up from school — on time, don’t worry — and brought her here. We’re getting Thai food for takeout later.”

She looked over at Lucifer; he looked puzzled but ready to dismiss Dan’s obliviousness. _Obviously he isn’t aware of the situation, Detective_ , she could practically hear him say. _He wouldn’t recognize an emergency if it smacked him in the face._ Chloe reigned in her inner Lucifer and focused on the conversation at hand.

“Wh — she just called me to ask me to come get her.”

“What?” Dan sounded as puzzled as she felt. “She’s in her room doing homework. Let me check —” Over the phone came the distant sound of footsteps, and then knocking against wood. “Trix?” Dan’s voice was muffled, as if he were pressing the phone against his chest. “Can I — oh, the light’s on in the bathroom. Trix?” There was more knocking. “Are you okay?” There was a pause. “Your mom’s on the phone. She said you asked her to come get you. Is everything alright?” Dan came back to the phone after a moment. “She doesn’t want to come out of the bathroom. Just says she wants you to come get her.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “We’ll get this sorted.” She hung up the phone and looked over at Lucifer.

“The child wants out of Daniel’s care?” he said. “Can’t say I blame her. I’d be calling you up too if I had to spend all weekend with him.” He grinned and settled back into his seat, clearly pleased with his rejoinder against an opponent who wasn’t even present.

She scowled at him, but her heart wasn’t in it. Dan had shot him, after all. He was entitled to a few quips.

A _few_. She had no interest in navigating a prolonged spat between the pair of them.

Her gaze softened. “I’m going to have to take a rain-check on this evening,” she told him. “I know we were going to have this whole weekend to ourselves, but —” She gave a little shrug. “Trixie needs me.”

“Of course, darling,” he said smoothly. She knew he was disappointed, but he had the good grace not to complain about it. _She_ was disappointed not to be able to spend the weekend with him, but Trixie came first. There was no question about it.

“I will say, though, she is getting rather big these days,” he continued on. “Surely the need decreases as they get taller, yes? She’s not nearly the tiny urchin I remember meeting.”

“Right?” she said incredulously. “She’s getting _tall_. She’s nearly caught up to me. Soon she’s going to start stealing my clothes and — and wearing eyeliner.”

“Oh,” said Lucifer, patting her gently on the knee. “I think your clothes will be safe from theft.”

She scoffed at him, to which he beamed. She leaned across the console and kissed him. “I have to go now,” she told him. “But I’ll call you later.”

“I look forward to it,” he murmured against her lips, stealing another kiss. He leaned back, sighed dramatically, and unfolded himself from her car. “However will I entertain myself without you, darling?” he called back through the passenger side window.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she told him, rolling up the windows.

He flapped a hand in her direction as she pulled away.


	2. Vanquished, Rising Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ô Prince de l'exil, à qui l'on a fait tort  
>  Et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort_
> 
> _O Prince of exile, god betrayed by foulest wrong,  
>  Thou that in vain art vanquished, rising up more strong_

Dan was frowning when he let her inside the apartment.

“Has she said anything more to you?” Chloe asked, striding through the open door.

“Nothing,” said Dan, running a hand down his face. “She’s still in the bathroom and refusing to come out.” He blew out a breath, his face creased with distress. “I just hope she hasn’t hurt herself. I don’t know why she won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Chloe knew that Dan worked hard to make his apartment a home for Trixie, and made time for just the two of them. He had made mistakes in the past as a father and as a husband — his lack of commitment to her and Trixie for the small, everyday things had been a large factor in their divorce — but he was trying, and he made the effort to be a great dad. There was no way that he knew Trixie was in distress and did nothing about it. This wasn’t his fault.

For her part, she liked to think that she was a decent mother. Not perfect, perhaps not even great, but decent. She did her best to raise her daughter with the same morals and convictions imparted on her, and tried to stay engaged in Trixie’s life, thoughts, and feelings. It pained her to think that Trixie was struggling with something and didn’t feel as though she could communicate freely with her parents about it.

She placed a hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze. “We’ll figure it out, Dan,” she told him. At his nod, she walked further into the apartment and towards the bathroom door.

She rapped on the wood. “Trixie?” she called. “It’s mom.”

There was silence, and then the door opened a crack. A red-rimmed eye peered out. “Mom?” Trixie said. “Can we go home now?”

“Let’s talk first, alright?” Chloe said, placing a hand against the frame. “Can I come in please?”

Trixie nodded and stepped back to let her in. She sat down on the lid of the toilet while Chloe perched herself on the edge of the bathtub.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. In contrast to that morning, Trixie leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. “What happened to make you want to leave your dad’s?”

Trixie sniffled, her eyes welling up. She fiddled with her hands, pushing absent-mindedly at her cuticles and looking down. “I started my period.”

Chloe knew this day would come soon, but knowing it in her head and being confronted with the reality were two different things. Trixie was eleven — younger than Chloe when she’d first gotten hers.

It had been a long time since the arrival of her period had made her feel anything other than annoyed — or on a good day, merely inconvenienced — but she remembered being young, when all these changes were new and confusing, and the sense of betrayal that her body was acting without her permission.

“Oh, baby, come here,” she said, opening her arms. Trixie burrowed her way in, sniffling into her shoulder. “It’s totally normal and natural.” She rubbed a hand up and down her back. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed or ashamed about it at all. We’ll deal with this together, alright?”

“I was feeling achy and nauseous all day,” Trixie said, hiccoughing. She pulled back from the hug. “And then I came home with dad and there was blood all over my underwear.”

Tumultuous hormones and bodily changes might not be solved in a day, but there were some problems that had an easy solution.

“I’ve got an emergency liner somewhere in here,” Chloe said, picking her bag off the floor to rummage through it. Honestly, the thing was a mess. When was the last time she emptied it out? She found a crinkly, plastic-covered pad in one of the side pockets, floating in a sea of tampons, and pulled it out. “Aha! This should keep you going for a bit.”

Trixie took the pad with a sniff. “Thank you,” she said. She looked down at her feet. “I didn’t know how to tell dad.”

“You can tell your dad anything, you know,” Chloe said, nudging Trixie’s foot lightly.

She looked up, mortified. “I can’t ask _dad_ to go get me some _pads_ ,” she said, as if the very thought was the most embarrassing thing that could happen.

Chloe leaned in closer. “You know,” she said, nudging her gently with one shoulder. “The very first time I got my period, my mom was out of town shooting a movie. Or a TV show. I think she was in Vancouver. Anyway, it was just me and my dad at home. When I told him, he walked down to the corner store and got me a box of pads and a bar of chocolate. I know your dad would do the exact same for you.”

“I guess you’re right,” Trixie mumbled. She perked up suddenly. “Can I have some chocolate?”

Chloe laughed. That was more like it. “Absolutely,” she said. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “I think you get your sweet tooth from me.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “When I’m on my period, all I want to do is eat chocolate,” she confessed. “I keep an emergency bar in my desk just in case.”

Trixie was smiling now, not looking so doom and gloom. Chloe reached out and wiped the tears off her daughter’s cheeks. “There we go,” she said. “It’s not so bad, is it? What do you think? Do you still want to come home with me, or would like like to stay with your dad?”

“Do you think dad will be upset if I go home with you?” Trixie asked. “I really don’t feel good.” She rubbed absently at her stomach.

“No, babe, he won’t be upset,” Chloe assured her. “He’s just worried because he didn’t know what was wrong.” She reached out and squeezed Trixie’s hands gently. “Do you feel like you can tell him?”

Trixie looked down at her feet again and scuffed one foot against the floor. “Yeah, okay.”

“Let’s go let him know everything is okay,” Chloe said, standing up. “Then we’ll make a stop for supplies. I’ll give you a minute. Do you need a hand with the pad?”

“No, I can figure it out.” She made a face. “My underwear is all ruined.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve lost a lot of good underwear to my periods,” she told her solemnly. Trixie gave a watery giggle. She slipped out the door and waited for a moment against the frame. She pulled out her phone to send Lucifer a message. _No crisis_ , she tapped out. Well. No crisis relative to the sort of thing he typically classified as one; Trixie would likely give an alternate assessment. _I’ll give you a call later._ She pocketed her phone once again before she saw his response.

After a moment there was the sound of the tap running, and Trixie opened the door. She nodded, and together they made their way back into the main room.

Dan was hovering in the kitchen. He jumped when he saw them turn the corner. “Hey Trix. Is everything okay? Your mother and I were worried there. How are you feeling?”

Trixie scuffed her foot against the floor. “I started my period,” she mumbled.

Dan shot a wide-eyed look at Chloe, who nodded meaningfully. “That’s, uh, that’s great!” he told her. “I mean, it’s a beautiful part of growing up, and um, your body in changing. But in a good way! It’s all good. And great. And —” He stuttered to a halt, fumbling for words.

Chloe felt compelled to throw him a life-line, for Trixie’s sake if nothing else. “It’s totally natural,” she added on.

“Yes!” said Dan. “And we can get you some tampons. Or pads! I don’t have any here now, but, uh, I’ll get some, and then you’ll have some here all the time. I can go out now and get some, or maybe your mom should do it, ‘cause she knows a lot more about it than me. Or we could all go together! Like a family outing…” He trailed off, and clearly unsure about what to do with his hands, shoved them in his pockets.

“I think Trixie and I are going to go get some supplies together,” Chloe told him, biting back a smile.

“That’s a great idea,” Dan said, taking his hands out of his pockets and clasping them together.

“Is it okay if I stay this weekend with mom?” Trixie asked.

“Of course, that’s totally fine,” Dan said. He visibly rallied. “We can have another weekend, just the two of us, okay? And you and your mom can enjoy this weekend together.”

On paper, Chloe had primary custody of Trixie, with Dan receiving alternate weekends and a split of holidays. In practice, however, Trixie sometimes spent an entire week with Dan at a time when Chloe’s schedule was particularly rough, or missed out on a weekend with her dad when work commitments forced Dan to push his assigned weekend to another date. She and Dan tried to alternate their schedules as much as possible so that Trixie wouldn’t be constantly with babysitters after school, although at times it was unavoidable.

It was an unconventional agreement, and one that only worked because she and Dan had remained on good terms throughout the divorce. She’d heard enough horror stories and witnessed enough domestic disputes as a uniformed officer to know how messy divorce and custody battles could get.

She felt a rush of gratitude to — well, whoever — that they were able to make this work.

“Trixie, why don’t you grab your backpack?” Chloe said. “Make sure you’ve got everything you need?” Trixie nodded and slipped off to her room. Dan crumpled against the counter.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to _say_.”

“You’re totally fine,” Chloe told him, smiling. It was sweet, really. “I think she’s just feeling a bit sensitive right now. She feels bad about bailing on your weekend together.”

Dan waved her off. “We can have another weekend. It’s a good thing you showed up. I’m totally out of my depth here.”

“You would have done a great job.”

“I would have called you anyway in a panic,” he told her. “It’s just as well she called you first.”

Trixie came back into the kitchen, backpack in hand. She looked a bit pale but otherwise much better than the sight that had greeted Chloe when she arrived.

“Can I get a hug?” Dan asked, opening his arms. Trixie wrapped her arms around him. “We’ll have another weekend soon. Enjoy the weekend with your mom. You know, bonding, and um, empowering each other —”

_Empowering_? Chloe mouthed at him over Trixie’s shoulder. He gave a desperate shrug.

“Love you, daddy.” Trixie said, pulling back.

“Love you, Trixie. We’ll see you soon.”

* * *

The ambiguously named “Personal Care” aisle of the store was, to say the least, overwhelming.

“How do you _choose_?” Trixie asked, poking the nearest box. “There’s like a thousand different options here.”

To be completely honest, Chloe shopped on autopilot most of the time, and only swung through the aisle long enough to throw her usual into the cart before moving on. The longest she’d spent looking at period products in a decade was the time the company had changed the packaging on the box.

She looked up and down the aisle. Everything was purple now.

“Let’s start out with some pads,” Chloe suggested, steering the cart past the tampons. “Maybe later we can investigate some reusable options. Look, these ones are good. Organic and fragrance-free.”

Chloe may not have felt prepared for her daughter’s first period, but all these companies clearly were. She didn’t remember there being any products specifically for adolescents when she was a teenager, just the same bulky maxi-pads for everyone that looked and felt like diapers. Times had moved on while she wasn’t paying attention.

“I like these ones,” Trixie announced, picking up a package. “They’ve got a bunch of different colours."

“Good choice,” Chloe said, looking them over and tossing them into the cart. “Let’s get you some liners, too.”

“What for?” she asked.

“Lighter days. Sometimes you think your period is done and then bam! Another set of underwear ruined.” Trixie giggled.

“You’re funny, mom,” she announced. She brightened even more. “Can we get some chocolate now too?”

“We sure can,” Chloe replied. “What do we feel like today? Bar? Candy? Cake?”

Trixie considered her options thoughtfully, eyes narrowed. “Cake,” she decided at last. “It’s classic. With lots of frosting on top.”

Somewhere inside, Chloe wished she could be one of those moms who could whip up a cake from scratch, but she just wasn’t that talented in the kitchen. Muffins were about as complicated as she dared go. To the bakery section it was, where Trixie deliberated for several minutes between a black forest cake and a double chocolate cake before settling on the latter.

It was nice to know that for all the changes over the past few years, there were some things that stayed the same.

* * *

“Alright,” Chloe announced, settling onto the couch. “We’re got takeout. We’ve got cake. Now all we need is… the movie.”

“Something good,” Trixie said through a mouthful of noodles.

“Something good,” Chloe confirmed, nodding. She flipped through their options. “What are we feeling? Action? Comedy? Romance?” She trilled the r for extra effect. “Something new? A classic?”

Trixie narrowed her eyes at the screen. “A classic,” she decided after a moment. She perked up. “Oooh, the Princess Bride!”

“Hello,” said Chloe in her best imitation voice. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father.”

“Prepare to die!” They said in unison, before collapsing into giggles.

Chloe grabbed the remote and pressed play. Together they snuggled deeper into the couch as the movie began to play.

The demands of work had kept her away more often than she would like, what with working late, stakeouts, and her — admittedly — workaholic tendencies. She was fortunate to have a good network of people to help her out, including her mom, some neighbours, one demon, and occasionally, the Devil.

But now this time they had for themselves.

She tried to hold on to these moments of connection and stifle the little voices inside that insisted she was a bad mother who didn’t spend enough time with her child. The world judged her enough as it was: as a divorcee, as a single mother, and, even when she was still married, as a working mother who had gone back to work after Trixie’s birth rather than retiring from the force to care for her child. She’d heard the gossip. It was hard not to internalize some of it.

Chloe couldn’t always be there for the two of them to have dinner together, not like the ideal of a perfect suburban family she’d grown up watching on TV. But she was always there for Taco Tuesday, and she’d made story time a priority, a firm cut-off to her day that only exceptional circumstances would cause her to miss. Game Night wasn’t always on the _same_ night, but it was something they stuck to every week.

The time they spent together was precious, Chloe knew. There would only be so many moments like this — hanging out together, laughing together, and stuffing themselves with Thai takeout and chocolate cake. Soon enough Trixie would be a teenager and she wouldn’t want to spend her Friday nights watching a movie with her mom. She’d want to be out with her friends or doing her own thing.

In some ways it made her heart ache. She remembered vividly when Trixie was just a tiny baby with chubby cheeks and little tufts of dark hair, and when she was a little girl who played with her dolls and snuck into the kitchen after bedtime to raid the fridge for chocolate. The time had gone by so fast. It was a blur of milestones and happy memories.

It was also exciting to see her daughter grow up and shape herself into the person she would one day be. Chloe wanted her to be just as strong and fierce and independent as she had always been. Inevitably, one day, that just meant that Trixie wouldn’t need her so much anymore.

But that time wasn’t here just yet, she thought at she cuddled even closer. They still had plenty of Friday nights and classic movies ahead of them.

* * *

Chloe crawled into bed, sitting up against the headboard and pulling her covers up to her chin. The AC hummed softly from the corner of the otherwise dark and quiet room. She grabbed her phone from the side table and hunkered down.

She scrolled down to Lucifer’s number and hit the call button. It rang a few times, before Lucifer’s honeyed voice came through. “Good evening, Detective,” he said. “I trust everything is fine with the child?”

His affected air of nonchalance didn’t fool her, and she felt warm at his concern. “She’s alright,” she told him. “Just a bit under the weather.” She didn’t elaborate; it wasn’t any of his business, not to mention Trixie would be mortified if her mother were to go blabbing to her boyfriend about her getting her first period. “How was your evening?”

“Not nearly as entertaining as I had anticipated.”

She grinned. “Perhaps I can help you make it a bit more entertaining?”

“ _Detective_ ,” he said, positively enthused. “Can you ever. What are you wearing?”

“Pyjamas.”

“Which ones? The tiny little short shorts, or the plaid ones with the fraying cuffs?”

“Are you making fun of my pyjamas?” she said incredulously. “They’re pyjamas. They’re for sleeping in.”

“I’m just trying to establish a visual, darling,” he said. “It’s all about the details. I love the little maroon plaid number on you.”

“Yes, they’re the plaid ones,” she said. “They’re comfy. Now tell me what you’re wearing so I can _visualize_.”

“Red silk robe. Of course, I would be delighted to take it off for you.”

She hummed appreciatively. She did enjoy his collection of robes, both on him and to steal to wear around the penthouse herself. “Not necessary,” she said. “Not yet.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “We have the marvels of modern technology at our disposal. We could do a little show and tell.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” she said slyly.

“Detective, I thought you’d never ask,” he said. “Now, hang up so I can video call you properly —” The call cut off. Giggling softly, she burrowed even deeper into the blankets, hugging them up to her chest. Almost immediately, her phone lit up with a video call. She pressed the green button to accept and was greeted to a view of Lucifer’s smooth chest and tousled hair.

“I thought the point of phone sex was describing what was happening with your voice,” she said softly, grinning.

“Why would I describe my cock when I can do _this_ —” The camera stuttered for a moment before flipping around to greet her with an eyeful.

“Someone’s excited,” she remarked.

“And you’re not? Come now, Detective. Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, so you have to show me yours.” The phone shook as he moved it into his left hand. “Tit for tat. Or rather, tit for —”

She laughed, trying to muffle the sound against her comforter.

“What are you wearing?” he asked indignantly. The tone of his voice was undercut by the way his erection bobbed comically with his words, and she stifled another fit of giggles. “What is that? Come on, Detective. I’m stripped down to nothing, and you look like you’re about to go out into a snowstorm.”

“Oh, you want a show?” She pulled the comforter away from herself and held the phone out at arm’s length, showing off her plaid shirt. “Is this what you want?” She fiddled with the top button.

“Exactly that.”

She pushed the button through the hole with excruciating slowness. “Like this?”

“A bit faster, if you don’t mind.”

A second button was undone, minutely faster. “Is that better?”

She could imagine the impatient and hungry expression on Lucifer’s face by the tone of his voice. “You are a filthy _tease_ , you know. Here I am, innocently trying to get my rocks off —”

“I’m confused.” Another button slipped out. “Don’t you like the anticipation?”

He groaned, whether in agony or delight was unclear. She took her time, toying with the final button. On the screen, his hand inched down to take care of his own needs.

“Now who’s the tease,” she told him, biting back a smile. “Showing that off when I can’t even help you out. I didn’t peg you to be so selfish.”

“You didn’t peg me? Then what was that whole business last week?” He gave himself a stroke, then adjusted the phone once more so she had up upward view of all of him. “Come now, take off your shirt. Show me the goods.”

She decided to put him out of his misery and pulled off her shirt and tossed it down on the bed.

Phone sex — or video sex, as it were — was a lot more steamy in theory. In reality, it was a lot of shaky cam and awkward angles as she tried to finger herself and show off ‘the goods’ as Lucifer had deemed them. Still, if she wasn’t able to physically be with him in this moment, it was an adequate substitute.

“This is much more satisfying in person,” she told him in the afterglow, lying in bed without her top and her pyjama bottoms pushed down off her hips. “But it was a lot of fun.”

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” he said. The camera was once again focused on his face. He was propped up on a pillow, his hair messy and wearing a smug little smile.

That was the thing, really — that he made the sex _fun_. He approached everything with a sense of wonder and shamelessness, and treated every possible position or act as an exciting adventure. She could probably propose anything in the bedroom and he would gleefully follow along.

As a matter of fact, _he_ could probably propose anything in the bedroom and _she_ would gleefully follow along. He could make anything a great experience. Had already, in fact.

She pulled her shirt back on and snuggled back down under the covers. She propped the phone up against the pillow beside her. “I miss you,” she told him quietly.

“Just say the word,” Lucifer said. “I can be there in a jiffy.”

Her insides squirmed delightfully, but she clamped down on it. “Definitely a rain check,” she told him. “When Trixie’s feeling better and I can properly prepare her for it.” As a young child, Trixie had frequently run into her room and jumped on her bed. She hadn’t done it for a while now, but it would be just her luck to have her revive the habit when her Devil of a boyfriend was spending the night and had an aversion to being clothed.

“As you wish,” Lucifer told her. He hadn’t been there for the movie — she hadn’t had the chance to tell him that was what they watched, but in any case, it sounded like _I love you_. Her heart sang at the words.

She didn’t want to pressure him into saying it back — he had a long and complicated history, and he wasn’t ready to yet. But there was no reason why she couldn’t remind him that her feelings were as strong as they had ever been.

“Goodnight,” she said. “I love you.”

His smile softened from something smug to something gentle and lovely and reserved just for her. “And I you,” he replied. “Sweet dreams.”

She ended the call, her entire being humming with love, and let it carry her down into sleep.

* * *

Saturday, it was decided, was to be a combination adventure and relaxation day. It was a gorgeous day, beautiful, sunny, and clear; Chloe and Trixie packed a picnic and drove half an hour up the coast to the Los Liones trailhead.

Trixie bounded ahead to take pictures of trees and the sky — anything that caught her interest. She turned around, giggling, trying to snap a picture of Chloe on the trail. Chloe pushed her sunglasses up her nose and flashed a peace sign for the camera.

“God mom, you’re so cheesy,” Trixie told her.

“Cheesy? Cheesy? Who are you calling —” she started running up the trail towards her. Trixie broke into a fit of giggles, running backwards and snapping pictures as she went.

She managed to get a good one of the two of them overlooking the bay, Trixie’s grin enormous under her sunglasses. She liked wearing the big ones, insisting that they made her look badass. Chloe couldn’t disagree.

There were lots of people walking the trail — it was hard to blame them, what with the perfect weather and it being the weekend — but they managed to nab a decent spot to eat their snacks and enjoy the view.

“We should invite Lucifer to come hiking with us next time,” Trixie said abruptly.

Chloe pushed her sunglasses onto her head and looked at her. “You think so?” she asked. “You’d be okay with that?”

“It could be fun.” She started to laugh. “But mom, I really don’t think he’d wear the right kind of shoes.”

Chloe couldn’t help but to join in. She could see it perfectly: Lucifer, decked out in a three-piece suit and red-soled Louboutins, brushing dust from the trail from his trousers and bemoaning scuff marks on his shoes. “He’s not exactly the outdoors type, is he?” Even as she said it, she had to reconsider. Lucifer had spent aeons in Hell; he’d been coming to Earth since as long as there was an Earth to come to. Amenities she took for granted, like the internet and takeout delivery and indoor plumbing were relatively new in the grand scheme of the world and maybe the universe. The luxuries that she had come to associate him with were, well, luxuries to him as well. “Although, maybe he is. We’ve never done anything outdoors together.”

“Well, he can come next time,” Trixie said magnanimously, selecting an almond from their bag of trail mix and popping it into her mouth.

Chloe looked out at the bay and fiddled with her water bottle. She turned back to her daughter. “How would you feel about Lucifer being around more?” she asked. “Maybe coming over after work, or staying for dinner, or hanging out on the weekend sometimes?”

“Lucifer’s been over to our place plenty of times before,” Trixie pointed out.

Chloe nodded. “You’re right, he has,” she said. “But that was just as a friend, or as my work partner. This would be him coming over as my boyfriend. It’s different.”

Trixie eyed her, her fingers tapping against her leg. “Are you and Lucifer going to get married?”

She spluttered and began to cough. “What? No!” She cleared her throat. “It’s way too early for us to even be thinking about that. But no, we’re not getting married. Neither of us really need that.” She didn’t really see Lucifer as the marrying type, and marriage was not what she wanted or needed from him.

Trixie nodded, as if that had been the right answer. “I like Lucifer. He’s funny. And he makes you laugh. It’s okay if he’s around more.”

“As long as you’re okay with it,” Chloe told her. “You’re my number one girl, monkey.”

“You’ll probably spend the whole time _kissing_.” Trixie crossed her eyes, puckered her lips, and made exaggerated kissing sounds.

“Oh, that’s a great picture,” Chloe told her, holding up her phone and taking the shot. “I should put that one on Instagram.”

“Let me see!” Trixie lunged for the phone and managed to yank it away. She made a face. “Mom, no, I look like a fish.”

“No, don’t delete it! It’s cute!”

Laughing with her daughter on such a beautiful day, Chloe felt her heart bloom even fuller with love.

* * *

They stopped in for groceries on the way back. Trixie grumbled — grocery shopping was not her idea of a fun outing, which, join the club, kid. If Chloe didn’t do some batch cooking on Sundays, they’d be eating nothing but crackers and toast with peanut butter by the middle of the week. They made a detour through the beauty products aisle to load up on face masks and nail polish.

“Hmm, I think we might be in need of some hydrating masks,” Chloe said, plucking a few from the shelf. “Do you have a preference?”

“These ones have pomegranates in them,” Trixie enthused, grabbing a different one that promised to purify. “I like this one.”

“This is the winner, then,” Chloe said. She tossed a few in the cart and together they moved on to the nail polish display.

Trixie stuck out her hand to compare her nails to the small swatches next to the bottles. She titled her head. “I’m thinking purple.”

“‘Splash of Grenadine’?” Chloe flipped over another purple. “Or ‘Kimono Over’?”

“‘Kimono Over’,” Trixie decided. “I’m going for scary sorceress vibes. You need dark purple for that.”

“One scary sorceress coming right up,” Chloe said, putting the bottle into the cart. “I think I’m feeling more on the pink end of things.” She picked out one that was like terracotta — fun but also work appropriate. She flipped over the bottle to see the name and laughed. “‘Haute as Hello’. Yes, that one’s me.”

“That’s a good one,” Trixie said, nodding her approval. It followed the other into the cart.

She grabbed a bottle of top coat as well. “I think that’s about it. Is there anything else we need?”

“More chocolate cake?” she asked slyly.

“Yeah, nice try,” Chloe said. “We still have some at home. You can have some more after dinner.”

“It was worth a shot,” Trixie grumbled.

Back at home, post-face mask and pre-dinner, Chloe carefully put a layer of polish of Trixie’s pinky. Despite her best intentions, she smudged some along the cuticle. She made a face and grabbed a cotton swab to dab it away.

“So,” she said with as much casualness as she could muster. “Catch me up on the latest gossip. Anyone cute in your class?”

“Ew, mom,” Trixie said, pulling an exaggerated face of disgust. “Gross. All the boys are stupid. And so immature.”

“That doesn’t always change,” she said, painting the thumb. There. Much better.

“Did you have any crushes at school when you were my age?” Trixie asked, examining her handiwork. It met approval, because she nodded decisively and extended her other hand.

She took it and planned her strategy of attack. She dipped the brush into the polish, then brought it up to the index finger. “When I was your age,” she began. “There was a boy in my class I had a crush on. I thought he was so funny and handsome. I don’t think he knew who I was, though. I didn’t talk a lot. I can’t remember his name now — I think it was Matt something.”

“And now you have a crush on Lucifer.”

She pointed the nail polish brush accusingly. “How did you know?” Trixie laughed, her hand shaking. “Don’t laugh! You’ll make me mess up.”

That just made her laugh harder. After a moment and a few deep breaths, she quieted. Chloe resumed her inexpert application. “Why did it take you and Lucifer so long to get together?” Trixie asked. “You’ve liked each other for ages.”

“You’re right. It’s complicated, monkey. I know that’s not a very good answer.”

“Grown-ups are hopeless,” Trixie observed with all the wisdom of her eleven years. “I don’t see what’s so complicated about it. You like him, he likes you, and then you get together.” She shrugged.

It was charming in its simplicity. Even if it could never have happened like that, it was something else to imagine what things would have been like if they had gotten together earlier. What if she hadn’t turned down his advances in the early days of their partnership? What if he hadn’t pushed her away after her poisoning? What if he hadn’t been kidnapped, and had told her the truth on his own terms? What if she hadn’t let Pierce get between them? What if Eve hadn’t come back into Lucifer’s life?

But no, she decided, inspecting her painting job. All those trials and tribulations got them to where they were now. Their relationship wouldn’t be the same if they hadn’t gone through the fire repeatedly, and all of their mishaps and misadventures made up the journey that had brought them here. And even though it hurt — enormously and tremendously — in the thick of it, there wasn’t anything she would trade away.

They’d made it through a lot — him being the Devil, her being a miracle — and they’d come out on top of it all. That was special. That was something strong.

Now it wasn’t so complicated. She liked him, he liked her, so they were together.

“Maybe all this grown-up stuff would be easier if you were in charge,” Chloe told her. She released her hand. “There you go. Very witchy.”

Trixie fanned her hands through the air. “Not a witch. A _sorceress_.”

“Very sorceress-y, then.”

“I think it’s dry,” Trixie declared, fanning her hands one more time. She picked up ‘Haute as Hello’ and shook it. “Your turn, mom.”

Chloe held out her hand.


	3. Hidden From Our Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Toi dont l'oeil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux  
>  Où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux_
> 
> _Thou that hast seen in darkness and canst bring to light  
>  The gems a jealous God has hidden from our sight_

The stove was on and Chloe was engrossed with cooking eggs on Monday morning when the door opened and Lucifer swept in. “Good morning, ladies!” he called.

“Good morning, Lucifer,” she said over her shoulder, smiling at him. “We’re just having breakfast.”

“I come bearing gifts!” He held a white cardboard box in his hands, which he opened with a flourish to reveal the pastries tucked inside. “There’s a delightful little French bakery that’s just opened up — I helped out the owner, of course, but I wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t singularly gifted. I insist you have a croissant.”

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie called, trotting out of her room and pulling herself onto a stool. “What are those?”

He shook the box at her like a concessioner at a baseball game. “For you, mademoiselle?” he said. “Croissant? Pain au chocolat? Croissant aux amandes? I’m particularly fond of those ones.”

Trixie eyed over the selection before going with Lucifer’s recommendation, which seemed to be a croissant with almonds sprinkled on top. She placed it carefully beside her eggs so the two didn’t touch. “Thanks Lucifer!”

“You’re welcome, child.” He gave her a quick look up and down as she piled a fork high with eggs and shoved it in her mouth. “You seem recovered from whatever illness came over you. If you feel the urge to sneeze, however, please direct your spray elsewhere.”

“Are you hungry?” Chloe asked, scrapping the rest of the eggs onto her own plate and placing a cup of yogurt on the side. “I can put some more eggs on for you.” She selected a plain butter croissant for herself and leaned against the counter to eat.

“Goodness, no,” he said, closing the lid of the box and setting it down. “I’ve stuffed myself silly on croissants and coffee already this morning. But thank you. ” He eased himself into a stool, which removed very little of his height. “I hope you’re feeling rejuvenated after your weekend of caregiving and are ready to go hunt down criminals once more.”

Chloe unearthed their current case file from under a pile of mail and flipped open the folder. She tapped the picture Takashi Matsumoto had sent her. “We need to find out who this is,” she said. “Perhaps we’ll have gotten lucky with facial recognition. I sent it in to be run through the system, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. This croissant is amazing, by the way.”

“Oh, isn’t that Jacob Peters?” Trixie said with a mouth full of croissant, leaning over the counter to look at the file. Hers seemed to be filled with kind of almond paste, and bits of it dropped down onto the counter. Chloe moved the file out of the danger zone.

“No, monkey.” She frowned slightly. “Where did that name come from? I don’t remember talking about anyone by that name.”

“That’s him,” Trixie insisted, pointing at the photograph clipped to the side of the folder. “I remember you showed this to me. That’s what you said his name was.” She delivered this with the ubiquitous teenage tone of ‘duh’.

She was probably just confused — maybe she’d seen a similar man in a book or in the news and pulled the name from there. Chloe certainly hadn’t shown her the case file, which was something she never did. There were times when she caught glimpses of one — such were the hazards of being the daughter of two police detectives — but she’d never been given free rein to peruse a case at her will.

“Well,” Chloe said, snapping the folder shut. “Lucifer and I are going to look into it today and see what we can find out. And you’ll be at school. Is your bag all packed? Ready to go?”

“Yep,” said Trixie, shoving the last of her croissant into her mouth and racing to put her plate and cutlery into the dishwasher.

“Brush teeth, grab your bag, and you can still make the bus.” Trixie raced to her room.

Chloe turned to Lucifer. “Thanks for coming by this morning. And for bringing delicious French pastry.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Lucifer said, waving her off. He looked almost embarrassed at the praise, not quite meeting her eye and tugging at his cufflinks.

It was the sort of moment that could define their relationship, Chloe thought. There was so much in grand gestures and first-time I-love-yous, but more important were these quieter, almost unremarkable moments.

Lucifer was so accustomed to going wherever he wanted and joining in without invitation — partly, she suspected, so that no one could refuse him entrance if he asked permission first. He could enter her home whenever he wanted to, but being invited in was a completely different story.

She could draw a line in their relationship right now, if she so chose to. She could tell him off for showing up unannounced and without knocking, and put up that barrier between her life with Trixie and her life with him, or — she could open the door and welcome him in.

“You’re welcome here any time,” she told him quietly. He caught her eye at last. “Breakfast or after work or — any time. You don’t have to bring anything, you can, you know, come as you are.”

His smile was a shy, tentative thing that glowed with so much potential. She memorized it in the moment and tucked it away in her mind for safe keeping. Oh yes, she thought. This would be something beautiful indeed.

He cleared his throat and the moment of uncertainty vanished. “Well, I certainly can’t let you go hungry, now can I? Besides, it’s hard not to share the bounty when Pierre is such a talent. It would be criminal of me to keep it all to myself.”

She let him put his defences back up. Easing them down would take more than just a single morning of eating authentic French croissants together. They would have time.

“I’m ready!” Trixie announced, running back out and heading to the front door. She pulled on her shoes — Chloe winced at their wrecked state and resigned herself to buying new ones, _again_ — and hauled her windbreaker over one shoulder.

“You’ve got everything?” Trixie nodded. “All your homework? Science project? Emergency supplies?”

“I have everything, mom, don’t worry.”

“Love you. Have a good day.”

“Love you too. Bye mom! Bye Lucifer!”

“Goodbye!” he called it response, and then Trixie was out the door and running for the bus.

Lucifer stood and gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

She gathered her things and preceded him out the door, a lightness in her step that she hadn’t felt in quite some time.

* * *

Ella was bopping to music with her headphones in when they arrived. When she caught sight of them, her face broke into a huge smile and she pulled her headphones off. “Hey guys!” she gushed. “You, uh, get here together?”

“Well, I had a brief detour for coffee,” Lucifer said, pulling a cup out of its carrier. “Can’t start the day without peppermint mocha with whipped cream, can we?”

“Thank you,” she said, taking her coffee and taking a small sip. “And, I have good news for you. We have a positive ID on that photo you sent it over the weekend.” She pulled up the photo on the screen, alongside a mugshot. “Meet Jacob Peters. He was arrested a few years ago for a DUI charge. He —”

“Wait, hold on a second,” Chloe interrupted, holding up her hand. Ella stopped, her mouth hanging open as she waited for the all-clear. “Did you say Jacob Peters?”

“Yeah, I did,” Ella said. She turned to examine the photo on the screen again, she hand swiping at the name projected in large letters. “Why?”

“Her child knew that name,” Lucifer said. He tapped his fingers against the table, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the screen. “This morning.”

“This morning, eh?” Ella said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. Lucifer’s concentrated look melted away and the two of them shared lascivious grin.

“Did you call me about this information?” Chloe asked, gesturing between the screen and Ella. “Did you speak to Trixie at all?”

“No,” said Ella. “The results just came back early this morning. Like 6am early. I knew you’d be in later this morning, so I didn’t call you about it.”

“Interesting,” said Lucifer, and turned to give Chloe a quizzical up and down.

“It’s not important,” Chloe said, brushing it aside. It was a weird coincidence, that was all. Stranger things had certainly happened in her life; this was hardly worth remarking on. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Right,” said Ella, turning back to the screen. “So, he was arrested for a DUI. We have an address on file for him.”

“We’ll see if we can get a hold of him,” Chloe said. “Maybe he can offer some insight on Owen’s death.”

“Did you find out any more about how it happened?” Lucifer turned to Ella. “The mystery has been eating at me all weekend. It’s fascinating.”

“Nada,” she told him glumly.

Lucifer made a low noise of disappointment.

“Time to focus on what we can figure out,” Chloe said, snapping the case folder shut. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The apartment building where Jacob Peters lived was completely ordinary. It was situated in a nice part of town, a reddish-brown low-rise with flowers planted outside. A few children were outside drawing with sidewalk chalk, supervised by a woman sitting in a reclining chair. Chloe and Lucifer walked up to the door and examined the buzzer.

“What’s the apartment number?” Lucifer asked, running a finger down the list of names.

She checked her phone. “3C.” She spotted a “J. Peters” on the list. “Ah, here we go.” She pressed the button.

There were a few moments of silence, and then a voice crackled over the intercom. “Hello?”

“Is this Jacob Peters?” Chloe asked, leaning in close to the speaker.

“Who wants to know?”

“This is Detective Decker with the LAPD. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

There was silence, save for the faint buzzes and pops of the intercom. Finally, he said, “Okay. Come on up.”

The buzzer went off, unlocking the inner door. Lucifer opened the door for her and ushered her through. She went with a smile. Together they climbed up the stairs to the third floor.

The door of 3C was cracked open slightly when they reached it, a single eye peering through the crack over the chain on the other side of the door. “I want to see some ID,” the voice demanded.

Chloe flipped open her badge and showed it to him. “Detective Decker of the LAPD. This is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar.”

The eye swivelled in his direction. “And where’s his badge?”

“He’s a civilian consultant,” Chloe said before Lucifer could pull out whatever very real badge he’d charmed his way into acquiring. “He doesn’t have one.”

The man snorted but said nothing.

“You are Jacob Peters?” Chloe confirmed, putting away her badge and pulling out her notebook.

He shifted slightly behind the door. “That’s me.”

She pulled out her phone and showed him the picture Takashi Matsumoto had sent her. “Is this you? Can you identify the other men in this photo?”

The door opened a bit wider, revealing the face of the man in the photo. He peered at the phone in her hand, a puzzled look crossing over his face. “That’s me and Owen,” he said, reaching a finger through the door to point them out. “Owen Williamson. I don’t know the name of that other guy, but he’s the chef at the restaurant we went to. Owen knew the guy.”

“We’re here to investigate the murder of Owen Williamson,” Chloe told him. “We —”

“Owen is dead?” Jacob Peters interrupted. The door closed, and there was the sound of the chain rattling. He reopened the door to reveal his face completely drained of colour. “What happened?”

“He was murdered in his home,” Lucifer said.

Jacob Peters gaped at them, his eyes blinking rapidly; he looked like a goldfish. “I thought it was strange that he stopped answering my texts, but I thought maybe he was just busy or — what happened?”

“We’re hoping you could shed some light on that for us,” Lucifer said.

“How did you know Mr. Williamson?” Chloe asked.

He blinked again and shook himself slightly. His knuckles were white where he gripped the door frame. “I barely knew him. We went on a couple dates together, for coffee and dinner and stuff.”

“Did the two of you have any arguments, any disagreements?”

Jacob gaped at them. “Nothing that would have made me _kill_ him, Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “We were getting to know each other.”

“You were seen arguing with Mr. Williamson at the restaurant,” Lucifer said, tapping the photo. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you’d like to share?”

Jacob opened and closed his mouth several times, resembling something like a goldfish. “We were arguing about the bill. As in, I wanted to pay, but he wanted to pay too.”

“Mr. Peters, I know this is quite a shock,” Chloe told him. She tapped her pen against her notepad. Her intuition told her that this man was innocent, but she still needed to do her due diligence. “We still need to confirm your alibi for Thursday evening between seven and eight.”

“Thursday?” he repeated. “I was out for drinks with a few coworkers.”

“We’ll need their names and numbers in order to verify,” she told him.

“Yeah — yeah, of course,” he stammered. “I’ll get those for you. Jesus. I can’t even believe this is real.”

“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted Mr. Williamson dead?” Lucifer said. “He didn’t talk about any particularly disgruntled business partners, or angry stock traders, or a particularly disgruntled gardener, did he?”

Jacob shook his head. “No, nothing like that,” he said. “I really can’t think of anything. We just went out for dinner a couple of times. Nothing like that ever came up. I can’t believe anyone would ever murder him. How did it happen?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not able to comment on the particulars,” Chloe said. “Not while it’s an active investigation.” She pulled out her business card and passed it over to him. “If you do think of anything — if you remember anything — please contact me.”

He took the card with shaking fingers. “I’ll — I’ll keep this on me,” he told them.

Back in the car, Chloe groaned and thumped her head against the steering wheel.

* * *

Even in a case devoid of any substantial leads as theirs was, there was always paperwork to slog through. Days and days of paperwork. It wasn’t exactly her idea of a fun way to wrap up the week, but at least she had decent company. She looked over at Lucifer, diligently looking through credit card statements, albeit with a glazed expression on his face.

Last year, he wouldn’t have been caught dead working on credit card statements. He’d have vanished from her side the minute she pulled them out.

He caught her gaze on him and blinked out of his stupor, sitting up straight.

Nodding to the credit card statements, she leaned back in her chair. “Anything interesting there?”

“Not a bloody thing,” he told her. He tossed the pile of statements down in disgust. “Recurring subscriptions to several major newspapers, weekly grocery shop, regular restaurant and take-out purchases, and that’s about it. Man didn’t even pay for porn.” His last judgement was delivered with clear derision. “And you?”

“Everybody’s alibi checks out, we don’t have any suspects, and we don’t have any definitive motive.”

“So we have a week’s worth of work for precisely nothing.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think we have nothing,” she said. “We’ve eliminated several possibilities. We have a list of people who did not commit the murder.”

“We have a body in a room locked from the inside.”

She ignored his pessimism. “Murders aren’t usually solved in a day. We’ve hit some dead ends, yes, but there are still avenues to explore. We have to be creative.” He was used to unlocking people’s desires and sailing through to the conclusion — and they had had some extremely fast solves recently. It was only karma — or something else divine — that they would hit one that would stump them for longer than a couple of days.

He grumbled, something about preferring creativity in other aspects of his life. “I suppose you’re set on reviewing this case all evening, yes?” He spoke with the same air of one resigned to his fate.

“Actually, no,” Chloe said. She fiddled with the pen in her hand, clicking it open and closed repeatedly. “Tonight’s game night.”

“Of course,” said Lucifer, settling back into his chair. He fussed with the line of his cuffs and picked at invisible lint on his sleeve, smoothing out non-existent creases. “I understand, you want to spend the evening with your child. We’ll be back on the case on Monday.”

“No, I —” Chloe breathed in deeply and settled herself. They were together. There was no reason for the two of them to tiptoe around each other. She didn’t have to make vague suggestions and hope that he eventually caught on. She could ask him for exactly what she wanted, and trust that he could make the choice for himself. “You should come. Trixie and I would be happy to have you join us.”

A small flicker of — hope? — flashed across his face. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said, sounding very much like he wanted to impose.

Interesting. Before, when they weren’t together, he had no qualms about bursting into her apartment and inserting himself into her life wherever he could manage it. And now that they were finally making the commitment to each other, he was balking and hedging as he were unwelcome — or as if seeing too much of him would cause her to rescind his invitation into her life. She wasn’t used to him being uncertain and insecure in this way, and it made her want to be more forceful in the declaration of her feelings and her intent to keep him in her life.

“You wouldn’t be,” she said firmly. “I want you there. And… I also want you to spend the night. If you’re up for that.”

He looked at her, his expression carefully shuttered. “I thought you desired to keep our relationship separate from your offspring.”

Her guts twisted. She had wanted to give Trixie time to ease into the reality of their new relationship, instead of throwing Lucifer abruptly into her life on a full-time basis. Trixie adored Lucifer, and it would devastate her to change his role in her life, only for something else to come along and sweep out the rug from under them.

On the other hand, Lucifer was clearly interpreting that distance as directed at him, at her not being able to commit to him and their relationship together. Bringing him into her life outside of work, into the life that she shared with Trixie, was the last remaining barrier in their relationship. Of course he was afraid that she was pushing him away by not allowing him in.

He wasn’t a parent. He didn’t know exactly the thoughts that went through her head and the logic she applied to Trixie’s upbringing. But she could endeavour to explain it to him.

“Trixie absolutely adores you,” she told him. “She thinks you’re the best, and she always has. Us being together — our relationship — affects her life too. I wanted to ease her into it, and make sure she knows that nothing in her life will be different.” She reached out and grasped one of his hands, ignoring the possible onlookers and comments that would come their way. “We are one hundred percent a sure thing, and nothing is going to change that. So I would love for you to come to game night and then stay over.”

“I would be delighted, of course,” he said.

She smiled and release his hand.

He bounced from the chair. “I should go to the penthouse and prepare a few items to take over. Do you have any requests? Text me if you think of anything.” He strode away from her desk towards the elevator without waiting for an answer.

“Wh — Lucifer!” she called, standing up out of her chair. “We’ve still got another hour before Trixie is done school and we still have all this — and, you’re gone,” she muttered, sitting back down and grabbing the form in front of her. It was nice to know that sometimes nothing changed.

An hour later and a few mind-numbing tasks behind her, Chloe pulled into the pickup lane at Trixie’s school. She waved to the teacher on duty as Trixie opened the back door and threw herself in.

“Hi, monkey,” she said, looking at her with the rearview mirror. “How was school?”

“Meh,” came the response. “People in my class are really dumb.”

“What happened?” Chloe asked. “Did someone say something?”

Trixie shrugged. “Nothing really. Just dumb and immature.”

Ah, yes. There it was. She remembered the turbulent times of middle school, when everything was the worst thing to ever happen and everyone else was hopelessly childish. She often couldn’t believe that she had been forced to share a classroom with people who were so obviously immature and younger than she was. “Some people mature quickly,” she said. “For others it takes a little while longer.”

“For them it’s taking a lot longer,” Trixie grumbled, scuffing her feet against the mat.

Chloe looked at her in the rearview mirror, catching the scowl that took over her features. “Are you ready for game night?” Chloe asked, steering the conversation in another direction. “I invited Lucifer.”

Trixie perked up. “That’s good,” she said. “Lucifer always makes game night fun. And he has the best stories.”

“I also invited him to stay the night,” she continued. “If you’re still alright with that.”

“It’s fine,” Trixie said. She rolled her eyes. “As long as you don’t, like, make out the entire time. That’s gross.”

“Alright, monkey,” she said, pulling into her parking spot. She put the car into park and turned around. “I promise we won’t make out the _entire_ time. Homework time, please!”

Trixie screwed up her face. “Mom,” she whined. “It’s Friday.”

“Yes,” said Chloe. “Would you rather do it now, before Lucifer comes over, or on Sunday night?”

She sighed. “Now, I guess.” She unbuckled her seat belt and drooped her way out of the car. “But,” she announced. “I’m stopping the minute Lucifer gets here, whether I’m done or not.”

“If you’re not done by the time Lucifer gets here, you can finish on Sunday,” she agreed, opening up the door to the apartment. “Maybe if you ask nicely, he’ll even help you with your Spanish homework.”

Trixie made an unsure noise, but complied. Chloe set down her purse and turned to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner.

* * *

She wasn’t sure whether Lucifer was joining them for dinner — her _Dinner?_ text went unanswered — but she made extra anyway. Leftovers were essential in any case. Trixie was getting to the phase where she ate everything in sight; she was shooting up like a beanstalk. Her grocery bill was snowballing.

She was slicing peppers for their salad when there was a cursory knock on the front door, and then Lucifer entered. In one hand he held a large wicker basket, and in the other a garment bag was draped over his arm.

“Hello, ladies!” he crowed, setting the basket down on the island with a flourish and beaming at her.

“Hello,” she said with a grin, leaning over the counter to drag him down for a quick kiss. He drew back after a moment, looking pleasantly startled at the development. She nodded at the basket. “What’s this?”

“Well, I didn’t think your clothes would fit me very well,” he said, unfolding the garment bag and holding it up by the hanger. “As much fun as it might be to try.” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze raking her up and down.

“No, I meant the basket, silly,” she said, smacking his arm lightly. He turned to hang up his suit on one of her coat hooks before turning back and opening the basket up.

“Just a selection of nibbles and other fun things for a proper game night experience,” he said, lifting out several covered glass containers. “A charcuterie board — well, two, really. One savoury, and one sweet. Don’t worry, I’ve got the little urchin covered with her insatiable sweet tooth. A pinot gris for us — an excellent vintage — or a pinot noir if you’re more in the mood for red.” He placed the bottles on the countertop next to the glass containers. “I also brought some sparkling juice for the child — alcohol-free, of course, but she can pretend it’s real wine if she so chooses.”

Chloe looked at the array before her and Lucifer’s hopeful expression. “This looks incredible,” she told him. “I can’t believe you thought to bring all this.” She traced the edge of one of the glass containers. It seemed that he’d thought of everything.

He puffed up slightly at the praise, satisfied with her praise of his efforts. “Well, this night deserves some special attention, doesn’t it?” he said.

Special. He wanted game night to be special. It was a fun ritual for her and Trixie, but it wasn’t vital; it constantly got switched to another day and was the first thing to get dropped if other things got in the way. But Lucifer saw it as special, and he wanted to be a part of it.

She wanted him to be a part of it, too. The whole thing.

“I’m just making dinner,” she told him, smiling up at him. “It’s nothing fancy, just baked chicken, roast vegetables and salad.”

“Excellent,” he said, as if she were proposing the most extravagant meal. “All of this is for later.” He gestured to the spread of containers and bottles on the kitchen island.

“And Trixie is around here —” The door to Trixie’s room opened and she came barrelling out.

“I’m done!” she announced. “Hi, Lucifer!”

“Hello, child.”

“Whoa,” she said, eyes wide as she took in the spread on the counter. “Did you bring all that?”

He snatched the containers away and began repacking them as if afraid she might make off with them. “They’re for later,” he said firmly. “Your mother’s making dinner.”

“Dinner’s in ten minutes, Trix,” Chloe said. “Can you set the table for us?”

Trixie went to the drawers to pull out cutlery, while Lucifer picked up the knife to resume cutting the vegetables for the salad.

It was the kind of domesticity that she hadn’t experienced for years, she mused as she checked on the contents of the oven. Even before her marriage had dissolved, family dinners all together were an unfortunately rare sight. They’d had their traditions, like Taco Tuesday, and she and Dan made the effort for one of them to be home with Trixie, but meals with the three of them had been few and far between.

This, she decided as they sat down together at the table, was something they should make a habit of.

“Are you ready to lose at game night?” Trixie taunted Lucifer, spearing her chicken viciously.

“Please,” Lucifer scoffed. He cut into a spear of zucchini delicately. “This sort of vain posturing is typical of someone who knows they’re going to lose.”

“The both of you, honestly,” Chloe said, knocking her hand against the table to get their attention. “Think of game night as an opportunity to have fun together. Because neither of you is going to win when I’m playing.”

Lucifer grinned, feral and sharp.

After dinner, Chloe cleaned up the kitchen while Lucifer assembled the charcuterie boards. Trixie was put on dish washing duty, which she set about completing with a pout. She hated washing dishes; Chloe often had to put her foot down and have her help out with them. There was no way she was going to do the cooking and cleaning all the time.

“Okay,” Chloe announced once all that was done with. Trixie pulled off her rubber gloves triumphantly and hung them over the edge of the sink. “Time for the main event.” She brought out the selection of games and rattled the boxes enticingly. “We’ve got Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble, or Risk.”

“Mom, never get involved in the land war in Asia!” Trixie cried, giggling.

“And never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!” She held up the Risk board. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“No,” said Trixie with a shrug. “Not in the mood for battles.”

She tossed Risk into the ‘no’ pile.

“I veto Scrabble,” Lucifer said, putting up his hand. “Unless we’re playing with dirty words.” Trixie giggled.

“Alright,” Chloe said, discarding the second box to pre-empt any unsavoury turns a game of Scrabble could take on. “We’re down to Monopoly and Clue.”

“We played Monopoly last time,” Trixie said. “Let’s play Clue.” She looked over at Lucifer. “Would you like to play Clue?”

“I can give it a whirl.”

“Miss Scarlett,” Chloe said to Trixie, extending the board for her to set up. She took it and tore off the top of the box to reveal the board and all the pieces. She unfolded the board and pulled out the cards.

“Choose your character,” Trixie told Lucifer, motioning at him with the cards. “I’m always Miss Scarlett.”

“And I’m Mrs. Peacock,” Chloe said, flopping down on the cushion.

“Very well,” said Lucifer, eyeing his options carefully. “I’ll be Professor Plum, because he’s the most good-looking of the bunch. Not that that’s saying much.”

Trixie shuffled all the cards, chose three to go into the envelope into the centre, and dealt out the rest. Chloe examined her cards carefully and marked off the ones on her sheet, then flattened the paper against her chest when Lucifer tried to lean back and get a glimpse of it.

Miss Scarlett, always the first to go, rolled the die. Trixie moved her piece.

“You’ve no chance, child,” Lucifer said, rolling his die and moving the purple token along the board. “Your mother solves murder mysteries every day.”

Chloe rolled the die and got a one. She made a face and moved her token one space.

Trixie rolled a high, and, crowing in victory, entered the lounge. “Alright,” she announced, peering at them from over her cards. “I accuse Mrs. White in the lounge with the rope.” She dropped the tokens into the room as she spoke.

Chloe looked down at her cards, but found herself unable to disprove it. She glanced over at Lucifer, who shrugged. “What?” she laughed, reaching over to the envelope and pulling out the cards. “There’s no way —” Her laughter died.

There were the cards for Mrs. White, the lounge, and the rope.

She narrowed her eyes. “Sneaky,” she said.

“Devious,” Lucifer said with an approving nod, taking a sip of his wine. “You make a worthy opponent. Even if you did cheat.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Trixie insisted. “I’m just that good.”

“Alright,” Chloe said, taking the cards back. “We’re playing for real this time. Close your eyes.”

Trixie huffed indignantly, but complied, placing her hands over her eyes. Chloe turned around, just in case, and shuffled the cards out of sight. She three cards randomly from the piles and slid them directly into the envelope. She then turned around and dealt them out again.

She and Lucifer both got a couple guesses in before Trixie made her way to a room for her first guess. “Professor Plum, in the study, with the knife,” she declared.

When no one could disprove it once again, Chloe huffed and checked the envelope. “How are you doing that?” she said. “You are getting some lucky guesses in tonight, miss.”

Lucifer said nothing, just looked across the table thoughtfully, his fingernails tapping against his wine glass.

The first time Chloe chalked it up to cheating. The second time, coincidence. By the fifth time in a row that Trixie won, it was just weird.

“I see what’s happening here,” she said, shaking her head and shuffling the cards again. “The two of you are conspiring to take me down.”

Trixie sighed and spread her hands, as if to imply innocence. “It’s not my fault I’m so good,” she said. “But I suppose I’ll let one of you win this time.”

By the time they wrapped up for the evening, Trixie had won a total of eight games, with Lucifer and Chloe pulling one each. The charcuterie was demolished, and she had pleasantly light spirits from the excellent pinot gris Lucifer had brought with him.

“What time is it?” she asked, squinting at the clock. “Nine-thirty? Okay, monkey, time to start getting ready for bed.”

Trixie grumbled, but helped to pack away the game before heading into the bathroom. Chloe stood up, stretched, and poured herself another splash of wine. She offered the bottle to Lucifer, who held out his glass for a top-up.

“She is certainly a fierce opponent,” he remarked. “I tried to figure out how she kept winning, but I couldn’t solve it. She had her eyes closed and covered each time, for all she was on giggling about it.”

Chloe shrugged. “Lucky night, I guess,” she said. “She’s always been good at that game.”

Lucifer looked at her, his eyebrow quirked. “But it’s not a game of luck. It’s a game of logic and deduction.”

She laughed. “What do you want me to say? You said yourself she wasn’t cheating. She won fair and square. Nothing too mystical about it.”

Trixie emerged from the bathroom, her face pink from scrubbing and the collar of her shirt wet. “Teeth brushed!” she announced. “Good night mom!”

“Good night, baby,” Chloe said, snagging her into a hug. Trixie allowed it for a moment before stepping away. “You can read for a bit if you like, but it’s lights out by ten, you got it?”

“Got it,” she confirmed, and trotted to her room. “Good night Lucifer!”

“Good night, urchin,” he said, lifting his hand. The door to her room shut with a click.

Chloe curled up on the couch beside Lucifer and snuggled into his side. “That was a lot of fun,” she said. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Yes, it was fun, wasn’t it?” Lucifer sounded almost amazed at the fact. “A rousing success for all, I believe.”

“Speaking of rousing…” Lucifer peered down at her. “I might be up for a little extra adult fun this evening.”

“Detective!” Lucifer pitched his voice low. “Aren’t you worried about the child? Who knew you were so adventurous.”

“Well,” she whispered. “We have to wait until she goes to sleep. And we have to be quiet. I mean it,” she said sternly. There could be no explosively loud orgasms or competitions to see who could be the loudest. Those sorts of games were strictly reserved for the penthouse; Chloe’s apartment was a _silent sex_ zone.

“Tell that to yourself. You’re the one who’s loud.”

“I have an _ordinary volume_ ,” she insisted. He shook with laughter under her cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t think you can be quiet,” she said casually.

“Is that a challenge? That sounds like a challenge.” He snaked a hand up her outer thigh and brushed against her side. She squirmed underneath him.

“No foul play!” she whispered, trying not to break into laughter. “That’s cheating!”

“There seems to be quite a bit of that this evening, isn’t there?”

She sat up and tried to look stern. “Behave,” she instructed. He raised his eyebrow, clearly having no intention to do any such thing. “We have to wait an hour. An hour isn’t so long.”

He sighed and pulled out his phone. “I’m setting a timer,” he informed her seriously. “And I’m holding you to your word.”

“Alright.” She traced her fingers along the delicate bones that ran from his wrist up into his hands. She couldn’t get enough of touching him; she wanted to map out and memorize his entire body by touch. For so long she had been restricted to watching and denying herself any contact beyond small, infrequent brushes of her fingertips against his side or his hand or his face. Being able to explore him, unimpeded, was a grace, and one that he gladly accepted.

His hand twisted and caught her wandering fingers, threading them together.

She lost track of time, caught up in the simple pleasure of mutual touch. When she at last revived from her trance, she glanced up to the see the time.

“I’ll go make sure Trixie is in bed,” she whispered, drawing away.

He nodded and collected their wine glasses and the last of the charcuterie boards. He put the remaining food away and started to wash their glasses.

The light was still on in Trixie’s room. Chloe double-checked the time on her phone and knocked softly on the door. “Lights out, Trix,” she called softly.

There was the rustling of sheets, a click, and the lights went out. “Good night,” she called.

“Good night,” she repeated back to her.

* * *

They took their time getting ready for bed, ensuring enough time for Trixie to fall asleep and leave enough of a buffer that she wouldn’t wake up again immediately. Chloe wiped down the kitchen carefully, making sure that everything was put away properly. Lucifer was helpful, and surprisingly pedantic about how the garbage should be dealt with. She left him to it, heading up the stairs and getting ready for bed.

She was all ready and dressed in her booty short pyjamas — with every intention of removing them as quickly as possible — when Lucifer arrived upstairs in her bedroom. Chloe pushed at his chest. He fell back onto the bed with a thump and a devilish grin, propped up on his elbows while his legs hung over the bed. She eyed the bulge in his pants and her mouth watered.

She liked oral. She like giving it, she liked receiving it, and at this point it had been far too long — over a week — since she’d had the pleasure of having him in her mouth. She fumbled at his belt, ripped open the zipper, tugged his pants off, and dropped to her knees.

A sudden strong gust of wind nearly knocked her backwards. She started, rocking back onto her heels, and blinked up at the sight before her.

Luminescent white wings fanned out on either side of Lucifer, brightening up the dimmed room. _Huge_ didn’t exactly begin to describe them; she moved her head to each side to see the tips of each wing brush against the walls of her room. Their size and grandeur dwarfed her room; everything around them appeared drab and out of place. Angel wings didn’t belong in the bedroom of her apartment in Venice.

Lucifer looks around, eyeing his wings abashedly. “Oh, dear,” he said with a self-deprecative chuckle. “I do apologize. They have a mind of their own.” He straightened his shoulders as if to put them away again.

“No, wait!” Chloe blurted out, putting a hand on his knee. He paused in his motions, a small furrow appearing on his brow. “You don’t have to put them away. If you don’t want to.”

“You… want my wings out?” His brow furrowed, as if the very concept was one outside his understanding.

“I’m just saying that you can keep them out if you want,” she said. “Since they, you know, popped out in the moment. If it feels good for you.”

She couldn’t deny that a part of her wanted him to keep them out — they were beautiful and looked so, so soft. Her motivations weren’t entirely altruistic. It wasn’t as if she got nothing out of their presence.

The confused furrow on his brow evened out and he shifted into a leer. “Indulging in a bit of ornithophilia, are we?” he said. “I’m always eager to fulfill your desires and play out any little fetishes you have.”

“Hey.” Chloe rose to her feet and stepped in between his legs. She placed a hand on his cheek. He blinked back at her. “This isn’t about me.”

“You’re sure about that?”

She ignored his needling. “Of course I love your wings. I love all your appendages.” He snorted, and she grinned along with him. The smile slid from her face. “But I love them because I love _you_. And I want you to feel good. If having your wings out feels good, then that’s what I want.”

He said nothing for a long moment, considering her words. She said nothing. He would not respond well if pushed. She bided her time, instead stroking the small hairs at the nape of his neck. His eyelids slipped halfway closed, soothed by the repetitive motion.

“I’ll keep them out,” he choked out at last. Once the words were out, he tensed and curled in on himself slightly, as if it cost him something to say them.

She did not cease playing with his hair. “Okay,” she told him.

She didn’t ask to touch them, even though she desperately wanted to. She didn’t have some wing fetish — she _hoped_ she didn’t have some wing fetish, anyway — but they were beautiful and majestic and so _Lucifer_. Petting them seemed like they’d fulfill all her childhood fantasies of petting a cloud, and soft and fluffy and warm. She enjoyed stroking his hair; stroking his wings would likely be something she wouldn’t want to ever give up.

But now was not the time. Lucifer was skittish and unsure about this part of himself. She needed to give him time and space to accept himself; she had no magical hands that could heal all of his woes.

She accepted him for him, regardless of wings.

He gave his head a shake, clawing himself back to somewhere less vulnerable. “If I put them away, chances are they’d just come right back,” he said hoarsely. “Bloody things have a mind of their own.”

She sunk down to her knees once more. “Then why don’t we work on a little less thinking, hmm?”

It was easy enough to lavish attention on the parts of him that she knew and loved already. There would be time, when he was ready, to learn all about the other, newer parts of him as well.


	4. Slumber, Locked in Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Toi dont l'oeil clair connaît les profonds arsenaux  
>  Où dort enseveli le peuple des métaux_
> 
> _Thou to whom all the secret arsenals are known  
>  Where iron, where gold and silver, slumber, locked in stone_

The following morning, Chloe was awoken by the bed shifting under her. She mumbled, opening bleary eyes to see the outline of Lucifer slip out of bed.

“Shh,” he said, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

She closed her eyes, but years of rolling out of bed immediately had ingrained themselves in her, and she found it impossible to fall back asleep. She became more awake and aware the longer she lay there.

Sighing in defeat, she threw back the covers and eased herself out of bed. She stretched her arms above her head, feeling a satisfying pop in her spine, and folded down to touch her toes. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Rising up, she made her way to the closet. Her housecoat was missing from its hook; she peered over at the pile of clothes on the chair by the door, and decided it wasn’t worth it to go digging through them to find wherever she had tossed it last. She shrugged and pulled on a long wool sweater before stepping into the bathroom.

Faint sounds of clatter and hushed voices greeted her as she exited into the hall. Making her way down the stairs, she turned the corner to see what was going on.

Lucifer was at the stove, wearing her stolen housecoat and attending something in a frying pan. Trixie was beside him, stirring something in a small pot under his watchful eye.

“What’s happening here?” she asked, stepping down. Her bare toes curled against the cool floor.

Instead of answering, Trixie turned to look at Lucifer. “I told you she wouldn’t go back to sleep,” she said.

“Well, I can hope, can’t I?” Lucifer shot back.

“Good morning to you too, monkey,” she said, grabbing Trixie around the sides to tickle her.

Trixie let out a shriek of laughter, the spoon in her hand splattering red sauce across the counter. She squirmed away, and Chloe let her go. “God, mom, you’re so embarrassing,” she said, rolling her eyes. She grabbed a sponge and wiped at the spilled sauce.

“Yes, I am,” she agreed, leaning against Lucifer’s back. “Good morning to you, too.” She ducked her head around his side. “What are you making?”

“Good morning, Detective,” he said. “Buckwheat pancakes with a raspberry reduction. We don’t have any proper maple syrup, but I hope this will suffice.”

“Can we have whipped cream, too?” Trixie asked, looking up at her hopefully, her brown eyes giant and pleading.

“I don’t think we have any,” Chloe said, tugging lightly on a curl that had fallen down in front of her face. “I can run out to the store and get some, if you like.”

“I brought some whipping cream,” Lucifer said, sliding a spatula under a pancake to flip it over. The other side was deliciously golden brown, and the remaining batter sizzled as it hit the hot pan. “I had thoughts about whipped cream and strawberries that didn’t come to fruition.” He sighed wistfully.

Although Lucifer’s intentions for the whipped cream and strawberries was an intriguing thought path to travel down, it wasn’t an appropriate topic of conversation to engage in while they were standing in front of her daughter. She steered the conversation in a different direction.

“This looks amazing,” Chloe said. “I can’t believe I’m getting spoiled like this, the two of you making breakfast. If you keep this up, I’m going to get lazy and demanding. You’re creating a monster.”

Sitting down to breakfast with Lucifer and Trixie felt right, she decided. It felt like something real. This wasn’t a dream or a fantasy; it was here, it was happening, and it had been earned.

* * *

Trixie had plans with some friends for the afternoon, which left the opportunity for Lucifer and Chloe to have their own free time. She returned from dropping Trixie off, half-expecting to find Lucifer draped naked across her bed, only to see him deep in thought at the table, drumming his fingernails against the wood. She sat down across from him.

Lucifer steepled his fingers and eyed her with contemplation.

“What is it?” she asked, peering over at him. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I’m thinking about your daughter,” he said. “She was very good at Clue last night.”

Chloe snorted. “Lucky guesses, I think.”

“Hmm.” He examined his cufflinks as if they were the most fascinating object in existence. “I’ve also been pondering how she could have known Jacob Peter’s name before you did.”

“Well,” she blustered, caught off guard. Truthfully, she’d dismissed that hiccup almost immediately and hadn’t thought about it since. As far as strange things about her life went, it hardly ranked. “It’s just a weird coincidence.”

He inclined his head in her direction. “I don’t think you really believe that, do you, Detective?”

She deflated slightly. “I will admit, it’s weird,” she said. “But what other explanation is there?” At Lucifer’s complete and pointed silence, she hunched over the table to look at him intently. “What other explanation _is_ there?”

“Oh, I don’t want to speculate without proof —” he hedged. He waved in hand with carefully curated carelessness.

“Lucifer,” she interrupted firmly. “If you think there’s something happening with my daughter, I want to know what it is.”

“Very well.” He adjusted his cufflinks, avoiding making eye contact. “Keep in mind that I say this without certainty. But it’s possible that she may be a —” he paused, visibly braced himself, and continued. “A witch.”

“A witch,” she repeated. She took a deep breath, then let it out. It didn’t help. Something hysteric bubbled up from deep inside her. “There are _witches_ now? What’s next, huh? Vampires? Are there werewolves now, too? Are aliens going to come down from outer space?”

He let out a small laugh. “No, no, nothing like that,” he assured her. “No werewolves — in this universe — and the civilization on Alpha Centauri isn’t advanced enough for space travel yet.”

She rubbed at her forehead. “Lucifer, seriously.” Sometimes, the magnitude of who he was and who she was talking to — a being who could drop reality-altering bombs at the drop of a hat — pressed down on her. He thought nothing of confirming extraterrestrial life and other universes as casually as she might bring up the weather.

It was moments such as thing one that sent a sharp reminder through her that he was not human, that they did not share a similar origin. It could be easy to forget at times, caught up in being with him, that he had lived through and experienced so much more of the world than she could every dream to.

It hadn’t escaped her notice that he had neither confirmed nor denied the existence of vampires. The Devil was in the details, after all. However, that would have to be a freak out for another day. At the moment she had more pressing issues, like the fact that there were _witches_ and Lucifer believed that her daughter was one.

“I’m going to need some more information,” Chloe told him. “Right now all I can think of is magic wands.”

Lucifer leaned forward and rubbed his thumb against the inside of her wrist in short, repetitive strokes. The touch calmed her, and she turned to focus to the sensation.

“Forget all of that.” He resettled himself in his seat. “Forget about spells and potions and broomsticks. That’s not what makes a witch.”

“So what _does_ make a witch?”

“All humans have a little divine spark —” He flicked her lightly on the arm. She scowled at him. “All humans have the potential to access it, although most cannot.”

“You said I didn’t have powers,” she accused.

“You’ve never exhibited them. It’s not a slight, my dear,” he assured her. “There are few who can. I’m not even certain that Beatrice has powers.”

“But she might.”

He shrugged. “Witches I’ve met in the past have been healers, or oracles, or have possessed knowledge of things they shouldn’t. Has she done anything strange before? A talent she shouldn’t possess? Prophetic dreams? The ability to control an element, water or fire? Knowing something without being told?”

Chloe chewed on her bottom lip. There wasn’t anything like that. Trixie was the average pre-teen girl.

“No, nothing like that,” she said. “This was the only thing. She’s just a normal kid. Well,” she amended. “A normal kid that’s been around a demon and the Devil for several years of her life.”

“Hmm.”

Lucifer squinted in thought, as if seriously considering whether long-term exposure to him was likely to cause others to manifest supernatural powers.

A sudden thought crossed her mind. “Hang on,” she began. “Is there a reason why witches are associated with the Devil?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Lucifer waved her off. “I’ve offered a few pointers over the years.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve stumbled across the odd person here and there who has an uncanny talent for growing plants or predicting the right number at roulette.”

“I see.”

“There’s no hidden Satanic Academy for the Dark Arts, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t,” she replied. “But it’s good to know.”

This whole situation might be easier if there _were_ a Satanic Academy for the Dark Arts; at least that would be a tangible thing she could wrap her mind around. Existing in a nebulous space, where she had none of the answers and had no guidance to offer, was excruciating.

As a parent, she always wanted her daughter’s life to be easier than hers. She always knew Trixie would face challenges. Some of them she could relate to, and others she could not.

She did her best to raise her daughter to be kind and honest and to always do the right thing. She would never claim that she was a flawless mother, but she tried to do her best and hoped that would be good enough.

But this. She had no idea how to guide her daughter through this. 

Lucifer didn’t appear all that concerned, but Lucifer wasn’t, well, human. Celestial powers were his nature. He probably ran into witches all the time.

She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what to do,” she told him, slumping forward.

He reached across the table and threaded his fingers through hers. “For what it’s worth,” he told her haltingly. “You are a wonderful mother. Your spawn is lucky to have you.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” Sitting up straight, she pulled her hands away from his and ran them through her hair. She didn’t feel like a wonderful mother. She felt like a mess. “What now?”

Lucifer shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never met a witch this young before.”

“Not that you have much to do with children,” she commented drily. 

“I meant rather that children don’t have access to any sort of power. Can you imagine a child throwing a tantrum and setting the house on fire? The little terrors are wretched enough as if is. All the witches I’ve ever met have told me they came into their power in their adolescence or adulthood.”

Chloe bit her lip. “ Can you… teach her, or something?”

He looked dubious. “I confess I understand little about the nature of human witchcraft.”

“You just said you’ve taught witches before!”

“I feel that _taught_ is a strong word,” he said, ever precise. “I’ve helped out witches before — adults who already had some understanding of their power and how to use it. I’ve merely given advice on how to hone and refine the ability they already possessed and had some measure of how to control. I’ve never had to teach a witch how to access their powers to begin with, much less a _child_.”

She blew out a breath. She couldn’t believe this was her life. “So what do we do?” she asked. “I’m a little out of my depths on this one. Do we find her a teacher?”

“I don’t even know if she has demonstrated any real power,” Lucifer pointed out. “This is all just speculation.”

“But you think it’s true.”

“I — yes, I do. I can…put some feelers out, as it were. I’m certain there are at least a few witches in Los Angeles.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. “Okay. Alright. I — I trust you on this, Lucifer. This is much more your world than mine.”

He touched her hand. “This is your world, too,” he said. “It hasn’t actually changed. You’re merely seeing a few extra sides to it, that’s all.”

If she were being honest, she could do with seeing a few less sides of the world.

“Just when I think there aren’t any more curveballs to throw at me,” she grumbled. “Another one comes along. _Witches_. Honestly, unbelievable. Miracles and demons and angels aren’t enough, no, we have to throw in witches as well.”

Lucifer was staring at her, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” she said, swiping at her mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, darling, you’re fine,” he said. “I was merely contemplating the fickle nature of human existence.”

Lucifer wasn’t one to do much in the way of contemplation; his admission surprised her. “Oh?” she said. “And what have you determined about humanity’s fickle nature?”

“Witches have had various roles and positions in your society,” he pointed out.

“I guess a few hundred years ago I would have been worried about Trixie getting burnt at the stake,” she said. She could only imagine the fear of those living during the Salem Witch Trials, terrified that even the slightest hint of power would result in their persecution or death. These days, everybody was a skeptic; her own experience with the celestial had shown her that. At best, a few people might believe in Trixie’s abilities, but more likely people would dismiss anything out of hand as a lucky guess or kooky woo-woo New Age crap.

She spoke from firsthand experience.

Lucifer nodded in agreement. “But a few thousand years ago, you probably would be crying with joy right about now.” He tilted his head back in reliving what looked like a fond memory. “I spent a few weeks with the Oracle at Delphi, you know.”

“In Greece?” He nodded. “That sounds great. I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Beautiful place, Delphi,” he said, eyes almost closed. “I sat in a temple with half-naked priestesses and ate olives and drank wine all day.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart wasn’t in it. There was no reason to be jealous of his very colourful past; she was in love with him, he was in love with her, and that was the part that mattered.

“Young girls would be brought before the Oracle and her priestesses to see whether they possessed the gift. While I was there, a girl was chosen to become an acolyte. Her family was beside themselves, repeating what an honour it was for their daughter to be chosen.”

“Well,” she mustered. “I’m not an ancient Greek woman, am I? I’m not crying for joy just yet.”

His smile was gentle. “I’ll look into it,” Lucifer promised. “Discretely, of course. Los Angeles is a big place; we’re bound to stumble across some more witches sooner or later.”

* * *

“Hey Chloe,” Dan said, approaching her desk on Monday. “Got some news for you.”

“Great!” she said, glad for the distraction. “What’s up?”

“I called to confirm the vic’s brother’s alibi,” he said. “He told us that he was at a book club meeting with friends, but there’s a discrepancy between the accounts of the people I talked to. A couple said he was there, another few said he was there but he got there late, and one woman said he wasn’t there at all, but then called back to change her story and tell me that she wasn’t at the meeting at all.”

“Humans have terrible memories,” Lucifer remarked from deep within a packet of powdered doughnuts. “I’m constantly amazed how you can do things and then the memory of doing it immediately falls out of your head.” He selected at doughnut and tossed the entire thing in his mouth. A puff of powdery sugar settled at the corner of his lips.

It wasn’t that Chloe wanted to eat an entire package of sugary doughnuts in a single sitting, but it would be nice to have the option to do so without paying for it later. _Angels_.

“It could be nothing,” Dan said with visible effort to ignore Lucifer. “But it might be worth following up on.”

“So what are you thinking?” Lucifer asked. “His brother had something to do with it? The man was inconsolable.”

“It could be nothing,” Chloe admitted. “Or he could be hiding his involvement somehow. Thanks, Dan. We’ll look into it and follow up in person.” It wasn’t as if they had anything more pressing to follow up on.

Yvette Collins lived in a nice, tidy little house in the suburbs. Rose bushes lined the front of her garden, overlooking her perfectly manicured lawn. A woman smiled brightly as she opened the door to their knock. “Can I help you?” She had long, wavy red hair and brilliantly white teeth that flashed in a smile.

“I’m Detective Chloe Decker of the LAPD,” she announced, flashing her badge. “This is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar. Are you Yvette Collins?”

“Oh, you’re looking for my wife,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Sarah. Please, come in.” She opened the door wider and ushered them inside. She directed them to the living room and gestured to two pristine white couches. “Have a seat, Detectives. Yvette is just out back in the garden. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.” She swept out of the room.

Chloe frowned. “Arrived?” she said, sinking down onto the couch. That was an odd way to phrase it. Perhaps Dan had called ahead to let them know they were coming.

Lucifer appeared unconcerned. He remained standing, examining several plants around the room.

Sarah returned with a Black woman wearing gardening gloves. She pulled off her broad-brimmed hat to reveal an impressive cascade of corkscrew curls.

“Detectives!” she called, striding towards them with a wide smile, tugging off her gloves and extending her hand forward. Chloe stood to accept her handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Yvette.”

“Detective Chloe Decker,” she said. Yvette had a firm handshake and pumped her hand enthusiastically before letting go. “This is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Of course!” said Yvette, turning and extending her hand to him as well. He accepted with a pleased grin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Please, sit, sit.” She gestured to the couches, and folded herself into one of them.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Sarah asked. “Water? Lemonade? Tea? Coffee?”

“Oh, I insist you try Sarah’s lemonade,” Yvette said. “She makes it fresh from the lemons we grow in the back.”

“I made some just this afternoon,” said Sarah. “I’ll be back in just a moment.” She went to the kitchen. There was the sound of some clatter, and then she reappeared with a tray loaded with a pitcher of lemonade, four glasses, and a plate of cookies.

“This is very kind of you,” Chloe said, accepting the glass of lemonade offered to her. She held it in her hand but did not drink any. “Unfortunately, we’re not here on pleasant business. It’s related to the murder of Owen Williamson.”

Yvette’s smile dropped of her face and Sarah shook her head, sitting down next to her wife. They traded grim looks. “Terrible, what happened to him,” she said. “It’s unsettling to believe that someone would murder Owen.”

“Poor David has been inconsolable,” Yvette said. “They were close, you know. I didn’t know Owen well, but we’ve been friends with David for years.”

“We understand you were with David on the night of Mr. Williamson’s death,” Lucifer said. He took a sip of his lemonade and made a pleased noise.

“Yes,” said Sarah. “We host a little gathering here every Thursday night.”

“A book club?” Chloe prompted.

Yvette chuckled, putting down her own glass of lemonade. “In name only. I don’t think we get around to doing much discussion of books in between the wine and the gossip. It’s more of a weekly friend hangout.”

“Do you remember David being present?”

“Yes, of course,” said Yvette. “We meet at seven, and he was here until about, oh, nine, I believe? Yes, that sounds right.”

“He was a touch later than everyone else,” Sarah said. “Fifteen minutes, perhaps? He said he got caught up talking to his neighbour about a tree that was hanging over his yard.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Yvette, nodding. “He was late. But that happens sometimes. It’s an informal gathering, after all.”

Chloe glanced at Lucifer. The ME had put the time of death between eight and nine in the evening, meaning he was squarely at the Collins’ residence.

“Was there anyone else missing who’s normally there?” Chloe asked.

“Was Mavis here? No, she wasn’t,” Sarah said without waiting for an answer.

Yvette nodded again. “Her daughter had a dance recital, that’s right."

Chloe checked the notes that Dan had made. Mavis was indeed the one who had called back to say she wasn’t there. The story that Yvette and Sarah were giving seemed consistent with other members of their book club oscillating between David being there and being late. She took a sip of her lemonade and had to restrain herself from gulping down the entire glass. It was delicious.

“This is wonderful,” she told Sarah.

“And these biscuits are positively _divine_ ,” Lucifer said. “Of course, I would expect nothing less from a pair of witches.”

Chloe was ready to turn to scold him and apologize for his comment, but to her surprise, Sarah merely smiled, and Yvette threw her head back in joyful laughter.

“Oh dear,” Yvette said to Sarah. “I think perhaps we’re getting less and less subtle as we grow older, don’t you think?”

“How did you know?” Sarah asked, which was a question Chloe was curious to know the answer to as well.

“Your plants are amazing,” he said, gesturing to the many plants and pots that dotted the room. “Remarkable ability you have there. A touch of magic if I ever saw it.” He tilted his head and regarded Sarah carefully. “I don’t know where your talents lie, but I know they’re there. Your whole house reeks of magic.”

Yvette’s smile grew wider. “What can I say?” she said. “I’ve always had a bit of a green thumb. Sarah’s talents are more in the crafting.”

“Potions, salves, tinctures, and the like,” Sarah said. “Healing.”

“We complement each other well,” Yvette said, reaching over to squeeze her wife’s hand. “I grow the plants and herbs, and she — well, works her magic from there.”

“Are you a witch as well, then?” Sarah asked Lucifer.

“Oh, no, I’m the Devil.”

Yvette and Sarah did not react beyond a hum and gentle nod, as if the Devil graced their living room on a frequent basis. Sarah turned to Chloe. “And you? You do not appear surprised by this conversation. Most do not believe in magic.”

“I’m not a witch,” she said awkwardly. “But my daughter — well, we think she might be one.”

Yvette’s eyes lit up. “Oooh,” she said in delight. “You must tell us. What are her talents? How old is she?”

“She’s almost twelve,” Chloe said.

“Young,” Sarah remarked.

“Fortunate, to have such knowledgable parents,” Yvette added.

“I’m not her father,” Lucifer said. “And if you met him, you would never call him knowledgeable.” He set his empty glass back on the tray and, his inspection of the room clearly finished, took a seat on the empty space beside Chloe.

Chloe cleared her throat pointedly at him. She didn’t need the two of them to get into a fight when Dan wasn’t even present. “We’re not exactly sure what her, um, talents are.”

“Some sort of pre-cognition or reading the future,” Lucifer said. “They’re still developing.”

Sarah nodded. “While she is young, she is still settling. If properly nurtured, they will expand and evolve.”

Yvette leaned forward. “Our Thursday meeting is a gathering of some of our fellow witches.”

“David Williamson is also a witch?” Chloe said, her eyebrows raising up.

She nodded. “It is a chance to connect and talk to each other. Please, we would be simply overjoyed if you and your daughter were to attend. A new witch at the beginning of discovering her power is a precious thing.”

“Did Owen Williamson have any powers?” Lucifer asked.

Sarah shook her head. “No. Just David, I’m afraid.”

Chloe looked over at Lucifer. “We were talking about hopefully finding her a teacher, or others like her,” she said slowly.

“And you have found some,” said Sarah. She laughed brightly. “Abuela Adelita told us that you would come.”

“Abuela Adelita?” Lucifer repeated.

“She is an oracle,” Yvette explained. “She’s very old, and very wise. She told us two strangers would arrive here who needed our help.”

“That’s a very vague prediction,” Lucifer said. “Not exactly a precise fortune telling, is it? You could say anything and claim it was true.”

Chloe nudged him in the side. For all he had talked about the power of witches, he was certainly eager to be dismissive of one.

Yvette shrugged. “Fortune-tellers,” she said, as if that explained everything. “They always know more than they let on, but good luck getting them to share any details.”

Chloe considered her options. Her was an opportunity, tailor-made for her circumstances, that had dropped literally out of the sky and onto their laps. If these women could help Trixie understand her power — learn to control it — then she owed it to her daughter to investigate all the possibilities that arose before them.

“Thank you for your offer,” she told them. “It’s a lot to take in at the moment. I’ll have to speak more about this with my daughter.”

“Of course,” said Sarah. “Here, take this.” She rose from the couch and walked over to a desk in the corner of the room and returned with two business cards. She handed one each to Chloe and Lucifer. “Feel free to contact us at any time. We’re always happy to help. If you don’t feel comfortable bringing your daughter here to meet everyone, perhaps we could meet somewhere else, or even speak over the phone.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “Really, I appreciate this.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Yvette insisted. “We hope to see the both of you again soon.”

As soon as they stepped outside the house, Chloe snorted. “You did say we’d run into witches sooner or later,” she said, striding down the path back to where her car was parked.

“I hadn’t anticipated it would be within forty-eight hours,” Lucifer admitted. “But I’ll take it.”

She looked down at the business cards that she’d been given and tapped them against the hood of her car. “We need to tell her,” Chloe said.

“Tell who?”

“Trixie,” she said. “Trixie needs to know about all of this.”

“Right,” said Lucifer, nodding decisively. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He made to turn and walk away. Honestly, where did he think he was going — they were in the middle of suburbia.

“Hey, wait a minute!” She held up her hands in a ‘what?’ gesture. “You can’t leave me. I can’t do this by myself.”

“Of course you can!” he insisted. “You’re perfectly capable. I believe in you.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“She’s going to have questions,” she pointed out. “Questions that I’m not going to be able to answer. I would really appreciate your support on this.”

He visibly struggled with her request, his mouth pressed into a grim line. She didn’t question his devotion to her, or even to Trixie; she knew he cared about the both of them a great deal. But he wasn’t exactly one to comfort or console, and the role of a caretaker, teacher, and emotional support was not a role he was accustomed to shouldering.

It could be, she thought. He had the boundless capacity to care. Convincing himself that he was capable was another matter entirely. So she waited patiently for his response.

“As you wish,” he said, the words sounding drawn out of him forcefully. “I cannot promise I will be exceptionally helpful, however.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said gratefully, opening up the car door. “Let’s get to it.”

* * *

They decided to tell her at Lucifer’s penthouse, partly for access to any celestial books and objects, and partly — Chloe thought privately — because the penthouse felt more like the sort of place for giving information about witches than her thoroughly human apartment.

She went to pick Trixie up from school and bring her to Lux. Trixie practically bounced with excitement the whole way, and flung herself out of the elevator.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she informed them, tossing her backpack to the ground. Lucifer winced. “I brought my bathing suit and everything. I’m totally ready for the pool.”

“You — brought your bathing suit to school?” Chloe said. “I only told you we were coming here when I picked you up.”

“No, mom,” Trixie said with exaggerated patience, ripping open her backpack and rifling through it. “You told me this morning.”

Chloe made eye contact with Lucifer, raising her eyebrow. She most certainly had not told Trixie they were coming to Lux after school; they hadn’t even known themselves that was their plan until the afternoon.

Witches, indeed.

Chloe sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her. “I — we — would like to talk to you for a sec.”

Lucifer stayed standing, hanging back and presumably trying to blend in with the curtains. Trixie shrugged and tossed herself down on the couch. “Sure.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Chloe snorted. Lucifer made a choking noise behind her. “Oh God, no,” she said. “It’s not that.”

“Okay, fine.” Trixie leaned back against one of the throw pillows. “What’s up?”

“We wanted to talk to you about the other night, when we played Clue,” Chloe began.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t cheat, okay? You guys are sore losers. You’re just upset you lost to me.”

“I am not a sore loser,” Lucifer started, standing up straight.

Chloe cleared her throat and looked pointedly at him. He lifted his hands in surrender and resumed leaning against the wall.

“We don’t think you cheated, baby,” she said. “But you guessed all the answers correctly. That’s a little unusual, even if you’re a very good detective. And there’s this.” She pulled their current case file towards her, and flipped it open to the photograph of Owen, Takashi, and Jacob Peters. She tapped her finger on the man’s face. “This is Jacob Peters.”

“Yeah,” Trixie said. “You told me before.”

Chloe shook her head and closed the file. “No, I didn’t,” she said. “You knew the name before we did. We didn’t learn the name until we went into the station and heard about it from Ella.”

Trixie looked between the two of them. “So?” she said, unimpressed. “I got lucky a few times. No reason to have a big serious intervention.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Lucifer murmured.

“Okay, so, what was it?”

Chloe took her hands and squeezed them gently. “We think,” she said carefully, “that you’re showing signs of — a talent for —” she fumbled on the word momentarily. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?” Trixie repeated. Her brow furrowed. “Like, you think I’m a witch?”

Chloe looked over at Lucifer, who looked about as helpless as she felt. She opened her mouth to respond and took in a deep breath. “I — uh, essentially, yes.”

Trixie blinked rapidly. Chloe steadied herself for the denial, the sarcasm, the ridicule only a pre-teen could deliver so well. Then Trixie’s face split into a wide grin.

“This is so cool!” she yelped. She scrambled to bring her feet up onto the couch and leaned forward intensely. “Does this mean I can shoot lightning out of my hands?”

“Like mother, like daughter, I see,” Lucifer remarked.

“We think it may be, um, more like, seeing the future?” Chloe said. She sounded ridiculous. She was so colossally out of her depths.

Trixie nodded sagely. “Sometimes I have déjà vu,” she said.

“You’re not, um —” Chloe searched for the words she wanted to say. “— Surprised?” she ended weakly.

“Everybody cool has a power,” Trixie said firmly. “Maze, Lucifer — even you have cool detective powers, mom, don’t worry.”

“What cool powers do Lucifer and Maze have?” Chloe asked, tilting her head. Lucifer stood up straight in interest.

“Lucifer is the Devil, and Maze is a demon,” Trixie said, not even bothering to look up as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it. The ‘duh’ went unsaid. “I’m gonna text Maze. She’ll think this is so cool.”

Lucifer stepped forward. “How did you know that?”

“Maze will totally think it’s cool, watch if you don’t believe me —”

“No,” said Chloe. “Trixie. What did you mean about Lucifer being the Devil?”

Trixie looked up at last. “Oh, yeah!” she said. “Lucifer told me he was the Devil when we first met. And then one time I saw Maze’s demon face. It was so cool.”

Chloe leaned back in the couch, stunned. Here was her daughter, casually revealing that she’d known about Lucifer and Maze the whole time — had believed them about the truth the whole time, as it were — and was completely unfazed by the whole situation. She turned to look at Lucifer, who looked roughly as taken aback as she felt.

“Out of the mouths of babes,” she said, and barked out a laugh.

Trixie looked between the two of them, a frown on her face. “What’s so funny?” she demanded. “I don’t get it.”

“It appears you were the first in your family to know the truth about me, child,” said Lucifer, utterly bemused. “Who would have thought?”

“Mom! You didn’t _know_?” Trixie said, aghast. “How could you not know? Lucifer always tells the truth, and he says he’s the Devil all the time. Did you think he was lying?”

It sounded easy enough when she put it like that. It sounded simple. It didn’t sound like the kind of revelation that would upend her life and have her fleeing to Europe to engage in a string of bad decisions.

“Grown-ups aren’t always as wise as kids,” Chloe told her. “I should have had you explain it to me, shouldn’t I?” It could have saved her a lot of heartache that way. It could have saved them all a lot of pain and misery. “You’re really okay with the whole — witch thing?”

“It’s awesome,” Trixie said, nodding. “Am I going to go to a special witch school?”

“No, not exactly,” said Chloe. “You’ll be learning, but it’ll be more like an extra-curricular.”

“This is gonna be great,” said Trixie. She beamed up at them. “Wait and see.” She turned to Lucifer and blinked up at him. “So how do I do it? How do I do magic?”

“Do I look like an expert?” he said, contrary to the fact that he did indeed look like an expert. “Try meditating. Witches are always going on about meditating and communing with nature.”

“I didn’t think you were the meditating type,” Chloe said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the couch.

“I’m not,” he said. “Although I was good friends with old Drukpa Kunley back in the day. Now there was a man who knew how to have a good time.” He turned back to Trixie. “Your gift is not second-nature to you yet. It comes and goes. If you learn to focus on it, you can discover where it comes from, and then you can control it.”

“Where does your power come from?” Trixie asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s everywhere. I’ve never had to go searching for it — much,” he amended with a sideways look at Chloe. “It’s done odd things on me, but I’ve never had to doubt that it was there. You’re at a disadvantage; you’ve been told your whole life magic isn’t real. You have some catching up to do.”

Chloe wondered how many humans had the spark of magic there as children — or, as Lucifer would have it, adolescents — only to have the same spark smothered by society. A child who demonstrated uncanny abilities was more likely to be brushed off as odd or sensitive than to have their talents seriously investigated.

She knew. She was prepared to do exactly the same thing to Trixie. Not out of malice, but out of simple ignorance. Who knew what sort of flame she could have extinguished.

“We played Clue the other night,” Lucifer said. “How did you know they cards that were in the envelope?”

“It was a lucky guess,” she argued.

“No,” he said, lifting his hand. “Once is a lucky guess. Twice is perhaps a coincidence. Eight times — I suspect the two times you lost was you deliberately throwing the game — is either cheating or pre-cognition. So. How did you know?”

“I didn’t cheat!”

“Trixie, baby,” Chloe said. “We’re not upset about the game. We only want to figure out how you did it.”

She sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just looked at the cards, and I wanted really badly to win. And then I thought about the cards, and I knew what the right ones were.” She shrugged.

“Did you know, or did you see them?” he pressed.

“Huh?”

“Did you know what the cards were going to be — abstractly — or did you see a vision of the cards?”

“I don’t know. What’s the difference?”

“What about Jacob Peterson?” he asked. “How did you know of his identity?”

“Mom showed me the file,” she said. “His name was on it.”

“But I only showed it to you after you said his name,” Chloe said.

Trixie held up her hands. “I’m telling you what I know,” she said. “You showed me the file. That’s what I remember.” She tilted her head. “Maybe it was a dream? It felt very real.”

“Hmm.” Lucifer eyed her contemplatively.

“What does it mean?” Chloe asked, leaning in.

“What? Oh, I have no idea. It’s fascinating, though.”

She massaged her temples. “Do we have any idea what to do? Where to go from here?”

“Alright, keep your hair on.” Lucifer rose to his feet and walked to the corner of the room that contained his library. He examined the shelves and rifled through some of the books. At last he snapped a book shut and brought it over to where Trixie was sitting. With a flourish, he presented it to her.

She opened it eagerly. “What is it?”

The title page read _The Historyes of the Wicce._

“Is this in English?” Trixie asked.

“It’s a touch outdated,” Lucifer admitted. “But there’s some good material in there. You’ve got to know where you’re coming from in order to know where you’re going.”

“I guess I’ll try it out,” Trixie said. “Can’t hurt.”

“What do we say when someone helps us out, Trixie?” Chloe reminded. Really, she was too old now to need these reminders, but perhaps extended fraternization with a demon had caused her social graces to take a hit.

“Thanks, Lucifer,” Trixie said.

“It’s no trouble,” he said, waving her off.

She brightened. “Can I go in the hot tub?” She turned her doe-like brown eyes on Chloe. “Please, mom? Please?”

“This is Lucifer’s home,” she said. “He has to say it’s alright.” She glanced over at him.

He looked at her closely. “Are you covered in jam or other filth?” he asked.

She showed him her hands, palms up. “Nope!”

“Very well,” he said. “If it’s alright with your mother, it’s alright with me.”

“Thanks Lucifer!” she yelled over her shoulder as she raced with her backpack into the bathroom.

Chloe walked in close to Lucifer and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said. “For helping her out.”

“It’s hardly anything,” he said. She didn’t think that was true. It meant a great deal.

* * *

Chloe and Trixie packed up their things to leave, Lucifer trailing after them uncertainly until she firmly extended an invitation to him. It was Trixie’s bedtime by the time they arrived home, and Chloe found herself winding down not long after.

She propped herself up against the pillows, her book flipped open in her lap. Lucifer wandered in from the bathroom, clad only in silk pyjama bottoms, his smooth chest bare. She smiled at him.

He nodded to her book. “Anything interesting?”

She flipped through the pages. “I don’t even know anymore,” she said honestly. “I’ve stopped and started so many times I can’t even remember what it’s about. I don’t exactly read for pleasure too much.”

He flipped up the covers beside her and eased into the bed. “A good book can be relaxing.” He lay down, head on the pillow, and blinked up at her.

She ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never really pictured you sitting down to read a book.”

“I read!” he said indignantly, rising up on his elbow. “Honestly, Detective, who do you take me for? The library in the penthouse isn’t just for show.”

She lifted up her hands for mercy. “I take it back! I can totally see it.”

Now that she put her mind to it, she could imagine Lucifer sitting quietly with a book. For some reason, her mind conjured him with reading glasses, sitting serenely on the couch, everything quiet except for the steady flip of pages. She could imagine him hearing the sound of the elevator and hastily shoving the book under a cushion and pulling out a joint. She snorted at the mental image.

Taking offence at her laughter, he flipped over and pawed at the bedside table on his side of the bed. “What sort of reading material do you have in here, eh?” he said. Before she fully registered what he was doing, he opened up the drawer and plunged his hand inside.

Remembering exactly what was in there, she sat bolt upright. Something hot zinged its way through her. “Wait!” she blurted out, scrambling to get to it first.

It was too late. He turned back to her. A small silky drawstring bag dangled from Lucifer’s wicked fingers and a triumphant expression crossed his face. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, swinging the bag from side to side. “What do we have here?”

She leaned back against the pillows, projecting an air of — totally false — indifference. “I am a grown woman,” she told him. She sniffed and turned a page in her book, trying to ignore the flush that was working its way up her. She couldn’t take in a single word on the page. “It’s not so strange to find these things when you go looking for them.”

“I wasn’t looking for this, specifically, but I will admit it’s a pleasant surprise.” He pulled open the drawstring and upended her purple bullet vibe into his palm. He pressed the button to turn it on and it began to buzz. “This looks fun.”

“What are you — put that back!” she spluttered.

“No need to be embarrassed, darling,” he told her, waggling the still-vibrating device at her. “You’re always welcome to browse my toy collection in return.”

There was a world of difference between not being embarrassed to own a sex toy, and having said sex toy waved in her face by her boyfriend. And while Chloe was no blushing virgin, and not always strictly vanilla, she suspected she would need an advanced degree in sexology to fully understand all the toys that Lucifer possessed.

He would probably be thrilled to give her a guided tour.

Still, there was a time and a place. “It’s not that,” she said. “Trixie is downstairs. And it’s _loud_.”

He examined it as if he’d never seen one before. “It is, isn’t it? I know of one way to make it quiet.” He looked up at her, blinking with deceptive innocence. “Can I use this on you?”

The image of him in front of her, singularly intent while controlling the speed and movement of her favourite vibe, floated to the front of her mind. She shifted slightly, pressing her legs together firmly. Lucifer watched her movements with a feral sort of grin. “You’re a menace,” she told him sternly.

“Is that a yes?” he prompted. He clicked the vibrator up a notch. “This packs a good punch, doesn’t it? I’m impressed.” He transferred the vibe to his left hand and shook the right one out.

She considered her book for a moment longer that she had been struggling to make her way through for what felt like weeks. She tossed it onto her bedside table and wiggled further down the bed. Lucifer’s grin, if possible, grew even wider as she shimmied out of her shorts.

“That’s the spirit,” he said, and pressed the vibe against the crease of her thigh, close but not close enough to where she wanted it.

She glared at him. “I didn’t realize you would be a tease about it.”

“It’s like you don’t even know me.” He inched the vibrator closer to the centre, circling where she wanted it most. “Is that better? I’m new at this, you see.”

“You’re such a —“ She surged up and flipped him. She would marvel at her own strength, except she was quite certain that Lucifer was eager to go down, sitting smugly under her as she positioned herself on top of the vibrator that had settled against his stomach.

“Such a what?” he asked, guiding her movement on top of him as if this was his plan all along. It probably was. “Such a genius? Such an amazing lover? Come now, you can say it.”

She would have laughed if she weren’t so caught up in the sensation of grinding against him as the vibrations tickled her deliciously. “You’re such an ass,” she gasped.

“You’re welcome to my ass any time, of course,” he said.

She pulled him up for a kiss, the movements of her hips speeding up, almost snapping with the intensity. His arms snaked around her, drawing her even closer as she gasped against his mouth. She was so close — just a little bit more —

She was aware enough to stifle her moans as her orgasm broke over her. Lucifer swallowed them eagerly, rocking in tandem with her movements and keeping her flush against him. His erection rubbed against her thigh, leaving a wet trail along her leg even as he made small little moans against her mouth. She panted as she came down, floating on the high of a good orgasm.

The feeling of the intense vibrations against her made her squirm, a touch over-sensitive. He reached between them and pulled the vibrator away, clicking it off and tossing it to the side. He smiled up at her. “That was fun, now, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Mm-hm,” she told him, leaning down to give him a kiss. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and gave it a short tug. “Now what about you, hmm? I’m feeling all wet and relaxed.”

He rolled them to the side, and entered her in a slow, sweet movement. Her eyes fluttered closed as she relished the sensation of being filled.

It was unhurried and quiet, the two of them facing each other on their sides and pressed as close as it was possible for them to be. She came with a soft gasp; he muffled the sounds of his moans into her shoulder.

It was perfect, she decided. Whatever small paradise they had carved out for each other was perfect, no matter which form it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Lucifer mentions the name Drukpa Kunley, who was a Buddhist monk in 15th century Bhutan nicknamed "The Saint of 5,000 Women". The short story is that he was a monk who had a lot of sex, drank a lot of wine, and his penis was called the "Thunderbolt of Flaming Wisdom". He was exactly the sort of monk Lucifer would approve of.


	5. Hide the Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Toi dont la large main cache les précipices  
>  Au somnambule errant au bord des édifices_
> 
> _Thou whose broad hand dost hide the precipice from him  
>  Who, barefoot, in his sleep, walks on the building's rim_

Chloe awoke the next morning with a thought already forming in her mind and a decision made. She blinked her eyes open, looking up at Lucifer. He was up, propped up against the headboard and tapping away at his phone. He paused typing and smiled down at her when he saw she was awake.

“Good morning, Detective,” he said, setting his phone down on his lap.

“I need to tell Dan,” Chloe told him.

Lucifer drew away from her as if electrocuted. “I can’t believe you’d bring up Daniel when we’re in bed together.”

“What are you talking about? We’re not doing anything. You’re on your phone.” She sat up and pulled herself into a cross-legged position, facing him. She blinked away the sleep and haziness, her mind sluggishly attempting to catch up with the conversation. Trust Lucifer to drive her crazy first thing in the morning.

“I’m simply saying that this area should be a douche-free zone,” Lucifer said, gesturing to the bed and the surrounding room.

“Alright, alright,” she said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “I just meant I need to tell Dan. About Trixie. Being a witch. I could use your support for that conversation.”

“Really? Dearie me, why?”

“Dan will have questions,” she explained. “You can explain the whole mystical magical celestial thing better than I can.”

He sighed. “Must we?”

Lucifer had a right to be annoyed with Dan — even if she suspected he was long over the whole shooting incidence and was just milking it at this point — but he didn’t have a say in Dan’s involvement in Trixie’s life.

“Yes,” she told him firmly. “He’s her father. He has the right to know. And if we don’t tell him now, he’s going to find out in some horrible way. He doesn’t deserve that.”

Surely Lucifer could appreciate that logic. He had ample experience with people — namely, Chloe and Dan — finding out unfortunate truths the hard way and the sort of impact that could have. She didn’t know if there was ever a good time for Lucifer to show her that he was the Devil, but it would have solved a lot of their problems in advance if he’d done it on his own terms. Chloe assumed that he had learned _something_ from those series of events and would want to avoid any repeats going forward.

Apparently, she had assumed wrong.

“Ignorance can be bliss. I’m sure Daniel agrees.” Lucifer sniffed haughtily and slid out from the bed, moving to rummage through her closet for a suitable robe.

For a being who was billions of years old, he could be such a — such a _child_. She felt her patience, what little she possessed early in the morning before having a single cup of coffee, evaporating.

“Lucifer,” she said through gritted teeth. “I understand you and Dan have your history and your weird frenemy dynamic. But when it comes to Trixie, she comes first. This is not a discussion. I’m not asking you for permission. I’m telling you that I am going to tell Dan the truth about Trixie, as soon as possible, end of. I would _appreciate_ your support on the matter, but if you don’t want to be involved, you don’t have to be.” She deliberately turned her head and picked up her phone from the bedside table, checking to see if any important messages or emails had popped up during the night. She said what she said. He could figure it out from there.

There was silence for a moment, and then Lucifer moved back to the bed and touched her arm gently. “I apologize,” he said quietly. “You’re right, of course. And I’m happy to support you in any way I can.”

She flipped her hand over and held on to his palm. “Thank you,” she told him. “Just — don’t torture him with it, alright?”

“I promise,” he said. “No torturing.”

* * *

“So,” said Dan, sitting down at the conference room table. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Chloe followed suit, sitting down at the table across from him. Lucifer stayed standing. She clutched her mug of bad precinct coffee for support. “Well, it’s about Trixie.”

Dan’s eyes flickered to Lucifer, as if questioning his presence there. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine.” She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “I — we — discovered something about her. That you should know.”

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“It’s okay — I mean, it’s not _okay_ , it’s pretty serious. But —”

“This sounds bad,” Dan said. “Is she safe? Is she —”

“It’s nothing bad!” she added hastily. “Not at all! It’s great even!”

“So what is it?”

“So, we think that — Trixie is showing signs of — she has a kind of talent — but we don’t know for certain.”

“What does that —”

“Your child’s a witch,” Lucifer interrupted.

Chloe turned to glare at him. “You promised me you wouldn’t do that!”

“No,” he corrected, holding up a finger. “I promised you that I wouldn’t torture Daniel with the information. You failed to mention it was because you wanted to take a crack at it.”

“I was easing him in gently!”

“Just — stop,” Dan interrupted, throwing his hands in the air. “What are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath. “Apparently witches are — a thing,” Chloe explained. “And Trixie has demonstrated some —” she struggled to pinpoint the right word. “— ability.”

“She can see the future,” Lucifer supplied helpfully, if obnoxiously smug. “Either that or she’s very good a cheating at board games.”

Dan looked between the two of them as if waiting for one of them to break and shout ‘surprise!’ and wave their hands. When neither of them did so, a frown appeared on his face in small increments.

“No way,” he protested. “Witches aren’t real.”

“Daniel,” Lucifer said impatiently, “You are aware of the divine — you have met me, the Devil, and several angels, and literal gods. Are you seriously going to draw the line for your suspension of disbelief at _witches_?”

Dan waved his arms in the air. “It’s not as if there’s a manual for this sort of thing!” he said, glaring up at Lucifer. “How am I supposed to know what’s real and what isn’t? What else don’t I know?”

“Well, where to start —”

“Lucifer, enough, please,” Chloe interrupted, holding up her hand to silence him. Lucifer cut himself off with a huff and crossed his arms. “Dan, I know this all sounds crazy. I’m still processing it too. But Trixie is showing some signs, and we met a few witches yesterday who might be able to help us out.”

“How long have you known about this?” Dan demanded.

Chloe shook her head. “Not long. A couple of days ago, we had game night, and Trixie kept getting the right answers at Clue on the first try. It seems silly, but it was real. And then we happened to stumble across this — this —” She waved her hand as she searched for the right word.

“Coven,” Lucifer supplied helpfully.

“— Coven, sure,” Chloe said. Why not. “They want to meet Trixie. They want to teach her, help her control this.”

Dan took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Chloe repeated, some of the tension draining out of her.

“I don’t totally get it,” he said. “I don’t get any of it. But I’m willing to go along with this. But,” he added, holding up his finger. “I want to be involved every step of the way. I want to meet this coven, or whatever.”

“Of course,” Chloe said, reaching forward to grab his hands. “We’re in this together, Dan. Trixie needs the both of us to support her in this.”

Dan squeezed her hands and let them go, running his hands through his hair and making it stick straight up. “You’re right, you’re right,” he said. “We can do this.”

“As touching as this display of parental solidarity is,” Lucifer said, stepping forward. “We do have a case to be getting on with, don’t we?”

She looked down at her case file and sighed. “The phone records came in today,” she said. “Want to help us cross reference numbers?”

* * *

Chloe was making herself a mug of tea, Trixie doing her homework at the table. There was the methodic thwack thwack thwack of the pencil against the paper as Trixie stared intently down at her workbook and filled in the answers.

She was contemplating raiding the cupboards for a snack when Maze opened the door and walked in.

“Sup,” she said, throwing herself onto a chair next to Trixie. “So you’re a witch these days, huh?”

“Isn’t it cool?” Trixie gushed, throwing down her pencil. “I’m gonna be the most badass witch _ever_.”

She would have preferred to keep the news of Trixie’s newfound powers a secret until they had more information, or Trixie was a little older, or better able to defend herself. Who knows what kind of beings existed in the world who might wish to hurt her in some way.

Maze didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to her allegiance, but oddly enough, Chloe never doubted her motivations when it came to Trixie. Maze might be willing to betray Lucifer, or even Chloe, but there was no way she would knowingly endanger Trixie. The demon’s soft spot for her daughter ran a mile deep.

“I’ve known a couple of witches in my time, you know,” Maze mused. “They’re always good for a bit of fun.” She looked up with a dreamy smile.

Chloe was not eager for Maze to reminiscence in front of her daughter as to what kind of ‘fun’ she had with witches — she could only imagine, and firmly did _not_ want her train of thought to continue in that direction — so she cleared her throat. “What brings you here, Maze?”

“A little test, to see if you’re the real deal,” Maze said, nodding to Trixie. “Lucifer thinks you might have powers of precognition. We’ll see.” She slid a handful of lottery tickets onto the table. “Choose the right numbers.”

Trixie beamed. “Cool!” She picked up her pen and prepared to begin circling numbers.

Chloe reached over and snatched them away. “Not cool,” she said. “This is not how we go about it.”

“Aww, mom,” Trixie whined. Chloe silenced her with a look.

“C’mon Decker, what’s the big deal?” said Maze. “The kid picks the right numbers, and you know she has witchy powers. Plus, I win the lottery. It’s literally win-win.” She smirked, lifting her boots onto the table and settling back in her seat.

“Absolutely not!”

If Trixie was truly gifted, she wasn’t going to use her powers to run scams and be a con artist. Chloe usually didn’t mind Maze’s liberal interpretation of morality, but there were certain lines that were not meant to be crossed. Teaching her daughter to cheat and abuse her power was one of them.

“Fine.” Maze rolled her eyes. “I’ll split it with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in thought. “80-20.”

“No, Maze.”

“Fine. 70-30. But that’s only because I like you so much.”

“It’s not about the money,” Chloe said, closing her eyes briefly and considering praying for strength. This was a conversation best had with her daughter, and not a demon who was unlikely to be swayed. “Monkey, it’s about honesty, and integrity, and doing the right thing. You have a special gift. You can either use it to benefit yourself, or you can use it to help other people.”

Trixie considered this for a moment. “Like Lucifer uses his special powers to help you catch bad guys?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Lucifer uses his power to do good things. And he never cheats or lies to get what he wants.” He had other less savoury methods of getting things done, but Trixie didn’t need to hear about that. “If you use your ability to win a lot of money, that’s only going to benefit yourself. And then you might be tempted to do it again, and again, and again.”

“I guess you’re right,” Trixie said. “And Lucifer using his superpowers to catch bad guys is pretty cool.”

Lucifer Morningstar, a positive role model for children, she thought wryly. She could never tell him. He would be terribly offended.

“Oh yeah,” said Maze, running her tongue over her teeth. “Whenever you have a moral dilemma, just think: what would Lucifer do?”

“I wouldn’t — well, monkey, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Come on,” Maze said, nudging Trixie. “Why not?”

“Trix,” she said, steamrolling Maze’s efforts to prove some sort of bizarre point. “How’s the homework coming?”

* * *

They decided to take Yvette and Sarah up on their offer, and scheduled a meeting with all of them together on Thursday evening.

Sarah opened the door for them. “Come in,” she said, gesturing them inside. “Chloe, Lucifer, it’s nice to see you again. And you must be Dan,” she said. “Come in. And this must be Trixie.”

“Hello,” said Trixie. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Sarah,” she said, holding out her hand for Trixie to shake, which she did with a grin. “Come meet my wife, Yvette.”

Yvette was in the living room, talking to an old woman who sat at a table in the middle of the room. She turned to greet them as they came in. “Wonderful to meet you!” she said, pumping Dan’s hand enthusiastically before extending her hand to Trixie. “I’m Yvette. We’ve heard a lot about you, Trixie. Come here. I would like you to meet Abuela Adelita.” She guided Trixie gently to the old woman.

Sarah invited the rest of them to sit. Chloe sunk down onto one of the couches, joined by Lucifer. Dan, looking completely unsure of the whole situation, sat in one of vacant the armchairs.

Abuela Adelita was ancient, her gnarled hands gripping a walking stick that was positioned to one side of the circular table. The table was covered with a black tablecloth, and a deck of cards sat in front of her.

“What’s your name, child?” Abuela asked with the volume of one who was slightly hard of hearing.

“Beatrice. But everyone calls me Trixie.”

Abuela Adelita beckoned Trixie forward. “Come, sit. Have you ever had your cards read before?”

Trixie shook her head as she sat down at the table opposite her. “No, I haven’t.”

“Reading the future is an art, not a science,” she said. “It is like looking through a stain-glass window. What you see is coloured and distorted; in the best circumstances, you will be able to see one piece clearly. But most of what you glimpse will be in shadow, obscured, or only partially visible. Even what you see clearly may not come to pass. How have you seen the future, my girl?”

“Sometimes I have dreams,” Trixie said slowly, twisting her hands nervously. She looked over at Chloe; she smiled back encouragingly. Trixie took a deep breath and continued. “And then the same thing will happen. Or sometimes it’s like I just know it without having to think about it.”

Abuela Adelita nodded. “In sleep our conscious mind is quiet, and we can listen to the truth underneath. In moments when you are not concentrating the truth may come to you also. In time, you can learn to access your ability consciously.” She peered across the table at Trixie. “You have dreams, you say?”

“Yes. Not all the time, just — sometimes.”

She nodded. “Keep a journal,” she proclaimed, banging her walking stick down as if she were a judge banging down her gavel. “Every morning when you wake up, the very first thing you must do is write down everything you remember. Even the smallest detail. Over time, you will become more aware of your dreams, and they will be easier to remember.”

“I will, Abuela,” Trixie promised. She leaned forward eagerly. “So how do I control my powers? How can I see the future?”

“How do you breathe?” Abuela Adelita demanded. “How to you lift your arms? How do you speak?”

“Um, I — I don’t know,” Trixie said with a small shrug, looking sheepish. “I just do.”

“Exactly.” Adelita tapped her walking stick against the side of the table. “No one can tell you how to see the future, just like no one can teach you how to breathe. You can either do it or you can’t. I can teach you how to hone your powers, how to interpret what you see. The _how_ you must discover for yourself, in time. You say you have dreams. We begin there.”

“How do you see the future, Abuela?” Trixie asked, inching closer.

“Tarot.” She picked up the deck of cards — much larger than a regular playing deck, Chloe realized. Her hands made quick work of shuffling the cards, belying years of practice. “I prefer to use the cards. To understand the future, it is important to understand the past and present. It gives me a clearer vision.”

“So tarot cards can really tell the future?” Trixie asked brightly.

“No. _I_ can tell the future. The cards are my assistants.” Abuela looked through the deck carefully and pulled out a card. She placed it in front of Trixie, revealing card depicting a youth holding a sword. “Here you are. The Page of Swords. Youthful, energetic, and watchful. This is your significator.”

She placed the card to the side and handed the deck to Trixie. “Shuffle the cards. Focus on a question or an outcome for the future. Riffle them properly if you can. There you go.” She nodded as Trixie did as she instructed. “Shuffle them three times, then bring them back into one pile, and split the deck into three parts.” Trixie continued to shuffle the cards for a moment, then straightened them out. She carefully divided the deck into three piles.

Abuela recombined the deck and placed the leftmost pile on top. “We shall do the Celtic Cross for you.” She placed ten cards face-down on the table. Six cards formed a kind of crossed circle, and four cards were displayed in a line off to the side like a staff.

She tapped the first card in the centre of the display. “This is what covers you. The situation and influence that surrounds you.” She flipped the card over.

“It’s a wheel,” said Trixie. “What does it mean?”

“The Wheel of Fortune,” she said. She ran a finger along the wheel on the card. “The natural up and down of life. Change. New beginnings. You are entering a new time in your life — you are becoming a young woman, and your powers are emerging. This marks a new period of time in your life, a chance to define your life anew.”

Next, her hand moved to the card placed on top of the Wheel of Fortune. “This is what crosses you, or the forces that work against you.” Abuela flipped over the card. “The Moon. Hmm. Deception. Peril — for you, or for your family. There may be hidden psychic forces at play that would seek to hinder you. This is a powerful card to find here, and shows that the forces that oppose you are not of your own making. Outside forces.”

“What kind of forces?” Trixie asked.

Abuela shook her head. “I cannot see them,” she said. “The Moon illuminates, but it also obscures. This is what I mean; the path to the future in not always clear. But if we know that the obstacle is there, we can prepare for it.”

She moved on to the card directly above. “This is what crowns you — your goal, or your ideal outcome.” The card was turned over to reveal two figures, each holding a cup. “The Two of Cups. Unity. Harmony. Balance. You seek these things for yourself — between you and your parents, your powers and your mundanity, your childhood and your adulthood. You are seeking balance in your life.”

Trixie gave a small nod.

Her gnarled hand moved next to the card below the centre cards. “This is what is beneath you, or the foundation of the matter.” She turned the card over. “The Ace of Wands. Another card to indicate the beginning of a new chapter of your life. You are being pushed forward by new beginnings — not necessarily of your own making, I would think. But you are taking these beginning and building a foundation for yourself out of them.”

The next card to be turned over was the leftmost card of the circle. “This is what is behind you, or an influence that is passing away.” The card showed more cups this time, but the card itself was upside down. “The Ten of Cups, reversed. Loss of harmony or friendship. Anger. Betrayal. You have been shaped by this disconnect, this loss of balance — perhaps this is why is fuels your wish for it,” she added, tapping the Two of Cups again. “Perhaps you suffered the loss of a friendship, or a relationship that was stabilizing for you. Your parents’ separation could have this impact.”

“I’m okay with my parents being separated,” Trixie argued softly. “They’re happier this way.”

Chloe’s heart twisted in her chest. She glanced over at Dan. They were better off as friends, she knew — and she was thankful that they were friends at all, considering how infrequent that was among divorced couples — but it still caused a pang in her chest when she thought about the effect their separation had on Trixie’s life.

“Perhaps,” said Abuela. “But it still had an impact on your life. Sometimes we are happy for the outcome, even if the process was hard for us.”

She turned to the card on the right of the circle. “This is before you. An influence that will come into play in the near future.” She turned the card to reveal another card upside down. “The Seven of Wands, reversed. Hmm.”

Abuela Adelita sat silent for a moment, eyes narrowed at the cards. “Is it bad?” Trixie ventured to ask.

“Reversed, this card indicates ignorance, anxiety, and confusion. I do not like it here when the Moon is on the table as your opposition,” she said, tapping each of the cards in turn. “You have the gift of foresight — it is new and untested, and you may feel uncertainty about its truth or usefulness. It may take some time for you to determine what is accurate, and what is noise, but this I can tell you — make your choices firmly. You may be right, you may be wrong, but take action. If you allow your uncertainty to consume you, it will drown out your power. How many witches have suppressed their power, and in effect destroyed it? Countless. So you, young Beatrice, must be brave in the face of this newfound ability.”

“But I don’t know how to do it,” Trixie said quietly. “I don’t know how to control it.”

“You will learn,” Abuela Adelita said. “We all have doubts in the beginning. Keep your heart open and your chin up, and you will learn in time.”

Trixie nodded, her eyes roving from card to card.

“Let us look here, at this next card. It represents your position in all of this.” She flipped the card placed at the bottom of the staff. “Temperance. This signifies adaptation. You show that you can adapt to anything that life gives you. You adapted to the loss of harmony in your life. You are adapting now to this new reality that your powers give you. You have a strong will, a strong spirit. Remember, Beatrice, it is the wise branch that bends to the wind, not broken by it.

“Now we turn to your environment — the influences that surround you. Your mother. Your father.” She turned over the card. “The High Priestess. Intriguing. There are mysterious and mystical influences at play in your life, that may yet be unknown to you. You may discover these in time.” She tapped thoughtfully on the card. “The High Priestess has the ability to bring potential to fruition. Her position here may tell us that you have support, those who can help you on your path.”

“I have lots of help,” said Trixie. “I know some really cool people.”

Abuela eyed their collected group and harrumphed. “That I have no doubt.” Her eyes lingered for a moment of Lucifer’s face, who offered her his most charming smile.

She turned back to the cards. “The next one represents your hopes or fears.” She turned it over and nodded. “The Six of Wands, reversed. Vulnerability. Betrayal. Fear of an enemy. You are afraid of your own vulnerability, and that of those around you.” She again tapped the Moon card. “Your fears are not unfounded. You should take care and be vigilant for a threat to you and your family. But —” She touched the Seven of Wands again. “Do not let your fear consume you, or it will stop you in your tracks. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Abuela.”

“The last card,” she said, turning to the final card at the top of the line. “This one reveals the outcome.” She turned it over. “The Six of Wands. The indicates victory and success after a period of strife. It is a card of good news.” She leaned back in her chair. “This paints a clear picture for me to see. Very strong new beginnings, obscured by doubts — but work to overcome these, and there will be the chance for success.” She tapped the Seven of Wands sharply with her hand. “There are obstacles in your way, child. I do not fully understand what form they will take, but they are there. Do not ignore them.”

“I wont, Abuela,” Trixie said. “I promise.”

Chloe stood, and wrapped her arms around Trixie from behind. Her daughter clung to her hands tightly. “You’ve done great, monkey,” she whispered, planting a kiss upon her head. “How do you feel?”

“Good, I think.” She turned to face the woman across from her. “Thank you for reading my cards, Abuela Adelita.”

“You’re welcome, child. Take care to head my advice.” She collected the cards back into one pile and squinted over at Chloe. “You are her mother, yes? I will do a reading for you as well.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” she said, taken aback. “But you must be tired. I wouldn’t want to impose —”

“Nonsense,” she said, gesturing for Chloe to sit. “Come, my dear,” she said. “You have an interesting way about you. Let me look at your cards.”

Trixie slid out of the chair and stole her spot on the couch. Chloe eased herself down into the chair. “I’ve never had a reading done before,” she confessed.

“That is fine,” she said. “For you, I will do a simple three-card reading. Shuffle the cards, the same way that I showed Beatrice.”

Chloe complied, shuffling carefully and then breaking the deck into three parts. Abuela recombined the deck and nodded her head. “First, we look at the past.”

The card she turned over depicted a tower in flames. She clicked her tongue. “The Tower. There was some catastrophe, no? The destruction of an old way of life, or an old way of thinking. An event that changed your life with no return.”

Her mind flashed to that fateful day in the loft, the image of Lucifer’s Devil face staring back at her over the corpse of Cain. She saw Michael, revealing the truth of her origins in anger. Her life may as well be a burning tower.

“There is meaning in this for you,” Abuela remarked. A small smile tugged at her otherwise severe mouth. “Good. Let us look at the present.”

She turned over the card, and Chloe looked down at Death.

“I see you are worried,” Abuela said. Chloe tore her gaze from the skeletal image to meet her gaze. “Do not be. Death does not represent physical death, but change. Renewal. Together with the Tower, I see that you have suffering through a disastrous event, but now you are changing. New ideas, new consciousness. Your daughter has recently been revealed to you to possess some power that you don’t have, don’t understand — and yet you accept. You have shifted your view.”

Chloe nodded slowly. Adjusting to life in a world that included celestials felt like rebirth indeed. The Chloe of three years ago was not the same woman that she was now; she would never have imagined, even in her wildest dreams, that the things that made up her daily life now could ever exist.

“As for the future…” Abuela flipped the card over. “The Moon, reversed. Interesting. Peace, but at a cost. Your trials in your past and present are bringing you to a peaceful conclusion, but there are still more storms for you to weather. You are walking a difficult path, my dear.”

That felt like the story of her life, really.

“You have already endured much,” Abuela said. “There is still more yet to come. What, exactly, I cannot say — for the Moon to appear for both you and your daughter shows me that your paths are both darkened with uncertainty, and not of your own making. Rejoice in your happiness and contentment. Embrace the good. You are undergoing immense change, and even the smallest light can bring you comfort along the way.”

Chloe thought of all the trials and tribulations of the past few years, and now her slow and hesitant steps towards happiness. She looked over at Trixie, sitting next to Lucifer, and thought of the strange little family they were creating together. If they weren’t part of her happiness, she didn’t know what was.

“Thank you, Abuela Adelita,” Chloe said softly. “I will remember your advice.”

“Good,” Abuela said. She brought the card back into her pile and waved Chloe away. She rose from the chair and slotted herself in between Lucifer and Trixie, who turned to beam at her.

“Isn’t she cool?” Trixie whispered.

“Very,” Chloe agreed, squeezing her around the shoulders.

Abuela Adelita turned her attention on Dan, who squirmed under her gaze. “You,” she said. “You are Beatrice’s father, yes? Come.”

“Oh,” said Dan, clasping his hands together. “I wouldn’t want to tire you — you’ve done two readings already —”

“And now I will read yours,” Abuela Adelita said, her severe tones cutting across his protests. “Sit.” She handed him the cards to shuffle. “Three times, now.”

He dutifully did as she asked, and handed back the cards when done.

“We start with the past.” She turned over the first card to reveal a figure on the ground with several swords plunged into his back. She clucked her tongue. “The Ten of Swords,” she announced. “Suffering. Strife. A deeply troubling time for you. Perhaps even the death of someone you held dear, yes?” Dan nodded. “This time was difficult for you. But now its influence has passed, and we turn to the present.”

The next card revealed a figure sitting on a throne, holding a cup in his hand. It was upside-down. “The King of Cups, reversed,” she said. “A powerful figure hangs over you — but untrustworthy. Perhaps you have met someone recently who stole something, or convinced you to do a terrible act?”

Dan’s eyes flicked to where Lucifer stood. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“You are still dealing with the repercussions of this person. If they are no longer present in your life, then it is time for you to shake their influence and move onwards.” Her hand grasped the final card. “And finally, the future.”

She turned over the next card: the Fool. Lucifer snorted.

“Oh, come on,” Dan said, throwing up his hands.

“A very good card,” Abuela Adelita told him. “The Fool walks on a journey through life, choosing between right and wrong. So must we all. Before you is the opportunity to make the correct choice, and decide your life’s path. You previous cards show trouble and strife, but here is a chance to forge your own path and determine your own destiny. I suggest you embrace this opportunity.”

Dan looked down at his hands. “I’ve been trying to do better.”

“And so you shall. Your past is closed, constricted — but your future is wide open with possibility. It is a chance afforded to few.”

“I will remember,” said Dan. “Thank you.” He escaped the table and retreated to his chair.

Trixie gave him a thumbs up. He offered a weak wave in response.

“Well, this has certainly been enlightening,” said Lucifer, standing up with a clap of his hands. “I, for one, always appreciate the chance to call Daniel a fool. My dear Adelita, you must be tired.” He offered her his arm, ever chivalrous.

Abuela Adelita eyed Lucifer, not moving from her spot. “Are you afraid of little old Adelita?” she demanded.

“As if I could be afraid of a dear such as you.”

“Afraid of the future, perhaps?” she said. Lucifer said nothing. She gathered up the cards once more. “I see. Don’t be afraid. I don’t bite. My teeth don’t have the strength for it anymore. Come sit.”

Lucifer grumbled indistinctly, but adjusted his suit and sat down at the table and obligingly shuffled the deck as she instructed. He passed it back to her.

“First, the past.” She flipped a card from the deck. “The Hermit, reversed. Immature. Unwise. Refusal to grow or change. Stagnation. This was you in the past, yes?”

Lucifer scoffed and glanced over at Chloe. She held up her hands defensively. Abuela had a point.

“Next,” she continued. “The present.” She flipped over the next card to reveal the Devil.

Lucifer laughed. “Not too surprised to find me here,” he said with a grin.

“The Devil,” she said. “Normally represents a destructive force, bondage, and not understanding. Here, it is reversed. You are awakening to a spiritual understanding, and removing the chains of your own making. You are casting away your pride, the shackles of your old life.”

He said nothing in response. Abuela Adelita turned the final card over.

“Your future,” she said. “Justice. Balance. Eliminating the negative excess and finding balance in yourself, in your life. It may also indicate that you will be held accountable for your own actions. This is a good spread for you,” she said, touching each of the three cards laid down. “I see progressive growth and change, beginning from stagnation and growing to achieve balance and harmony.”

He was silent for several long moments. “Thank you,” he said at last, although it sounded as though he was clenching his teeth. “I shall take it under consideration.”

Abuela waved him off. “I’m tired,” she announced to Sarah. She rushed forward to help her out of her chair.

“Of course, Abuela Adelita,” Sarah said, giving her an arm to hang on to. “Your son is just outside. We’ll get him to take you home.”

Abuela patted Sarah on the cheek. “Such a good girl,” she said. Her eyes sought out Trixie on the couch, and she tapped her walking stick lightly against her foot. “You, my dear,” she added. “Don’t forget what I told you.”

“I won’t, Abuela,” Trixie promised quietly.


End file.
